




4J1 ;r : 


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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

ChapLEZ^\Copyright No. 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 






































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The best foot forward 

AND OTHER STORIES. 



FRANCIS J. FINN, S.J., 

AUTHOR OF "PERCY WYNN,” “TOM PLAYFAIR,” “HARRY DEE,” “CLAUDE 
LIGHTFOOT,” “ETHHLRED PRESTON,” ‘‘THAT FOOTBALL GAME,” 

‘‘MOSTLY BOYS,” ETC. 



NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO: 

BENZIGER BROTHERS, 

Printers to the Holy Apostolic See , 


1900, 

C* 



L Ibrary of Congr*t% 

0 fflce o f the 

Dr*. 2 - i«og 

Register of Copyright 


48579 

BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 


Each Volume with a Frontispiece. Published in 
uniform style , i2mo, cloth , each 85 cents. 


PERCY WYNN; or, Making a Bov ok Him. 

“ This is by far the best tale of schoolboy days that 
we have read since the old times when 4 Tom Brown’ 
delighted us.”— Colorado Catholic. 

TOM PLAYFAIR; or, Making a Start. 

“ It is the best boy’s book that ever came from the 
press. ’ ’ — Michigan Catholic. 

HARRY DEE; OR, Working It Out. 

“ This is a downright good tale for boys; full of ad- 
[ ventures and hairbreadth escapes.” — Liverpool Cath- 
| olic Times. 

CLAUDE LIGHTFOOT; or, How the Problem 
Was Solved. 

“It is full of life snap, and interest.”— Northwestern 
Chronicle. 

ETHELRED PRESTON ; or, The Adventures of 
a Newcomer. 

“The plot is decidedly novel, and the reader is 
utterly mystified until the true Ethelred turns up.” 
—Catholic Advocate. 

THAT FOOTBALL GAME ; and What Came ok It. 

“ We don’t know a boy who ever had the gift of one 
of Father Finn’s books who hasn’t longed for the set. 
His latest is almost the best.” — The Pilot. 

MOSTLY BOYS. Short Stories. 

“It does not matter how old your boy may be, he 
will enjoy Father Finn’s stories.” — Church Progress 


BENZIGER BROTHERS: NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, 

CHICAGO. 


H A- V 

SECOND COPY, 


Copyright, 1899, by Benziger Brothers. 


CONTENTS. 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


CHAPTER 

I. In which there is a Change of Teachers, and 
the Class of Second Academic Finds that it 
has fallen on Dark Days, .... 

II. In which Eddie Miller tells his Tale of Woe, 
and Receives, in Return, an Astonishing Reve- 
lation from his Elder Brother, 

III. In which are Set Down Minutely the Trials and 

Tribulations of Master Cyril Harmon, show- 
ing that Success is sometimes Dearly Bought; 
and in which Eddie Miller finds that his Own 
Popularity Stands in the way of his Personal 
Influence, ....... 

IV. In which Eddie Miller takes Counsel of Father 

Noland, and Learns a Few Th ; ngs Worth 

Remembering, 

V. In which Tommy Madden takes a Pronounced 
Stand, and, by Extraordinary Means, Makes 
an Extraordinary Conversion to the Side of 
Law and Order, . . . . . 

VI. In which it is shown how Cakes and Lemonade 
can help in a Good Cause, and the Class 
begins to put the Best Foot Forward, . 

VII. In which the Class goes upon Dress Parade, 
and Cyril Harmon Suffers Persecution, . 
iii 


PAGE 

5 

12 

24 

34 

48 

58 

66 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

VIII. In which Cyril turns the Scale, Mr. Roberts 
enters the Yard and a Small Newsboy is 
very much Astonished, . . • . . .72 

IX. In which Mr. Roberts gives an Opinion of his 
Boys which does not Square with his Open- 
ing Sentiments and Everybody is Happy, . 88 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 

I. In which John Rolfs, for Good and Sufficient 
Reasons, wishes to go Home; but is Prevailed 
upon by the King of the College to Stay 

Three Days Longer, 91 

II. In which the King of the College gets an Idea 
and Astonishes the Yard in Wash-room As- 
sembled by promising them an Exhibition 
of Football Playing from none other than 
John Rolfs, ....... 99 

III. In which the King of the College induces Rolfs 

to play Right Half-Back, . . . .114 

IV. A Football Game with a Famous Run, . .121 

V. In which John Rolfs changes his Mind, and 

remains at College, . . . . .132 


LOOKING FOR SANTA CLAUS. . 141 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER; 

OR, THE RISE OF JIMMIE GLEASON. 

I. In which Jimmie is Conquered and Conquers, . 153 
II. In which Jimmie meets Father Nelson, and gets 

a New Idea, ....... 160 


CONTENTS. 


v 


CHAPTER PAGE 

III. The Gleasons at Home, ..... 165 

IV. In which Jimmie Gleason reports Progress to 

John Larkin, . . . . . . .174 

V. In which Jimmie makes Restitution and a New 

Acquaintance, . . . . . . .180 

VI. In which Jimmie Gleason discovers that Fighting 

on the Street has its Disadvantages, . .188 

VII. In which Jimmie undertakes to cure Cyril’s Fever, 192 

VIII. In which Jimmie Gleason forgets himself and is 

Plunged from Happiness to Despair, . .201 

IX. In which Margaret comes to the help of her 

Brother, and Mr. Ring “ Does It,” . . . 205 

X. In which Jimmie Gleason takes a Carriage Ride, 

and Finds a Home, 211 

XI. In wh : ch John and Margaret show Wonderful In- 
sensibility to the Cold, and a New Year Begins 
for them in Earnest, ..... 222 

XII. In which Every One is Happy, and the Curtain 

Falls, ........ 228 


THE BOY WHO KNEW IT ALL. 


• 237 




THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


CHAPTER I. 

IN WHICH THERE IS A CHANGE OF TEACHERS , AND THE 
CLASS OF SECOND ACADEMIC FINDS THAT IT 
HAS FALLEN UPON DARK DAYS. 

When the boys of Second Academic discovered 
a new teacher at the desk, they were surprised and 
bewildered. No wonder they looked at each other 
with uneasy and inquiring glances; but two weeks 
of the school-year had passed and all had been go- 
ing as merry as a marriage bell. What could have 
happened ? 

This is what they learned later in the day. 

Mr. Phillips had been suddenly called away to 
a new field of labor; Mr. Phillips, who with much 
scattering of sunshine had brought them through 
the class of Third Academic; and who had suc- 
ceeded in making the past two weeks of the new 
school-year so bright and pleasant. 

The new teacher, on the face of it, was not an 


5 


6 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


agreeable substitute. He looked appallingly aus- 
tere, and, what is more, as his young disciples 
learned long before the first hour of class came 
to an end, he was austere. 

“Well, boys/’ he began, “Mr. Phillips has been 
called away; and I have been sent here to take his 
place. I hope we shall get along together. He 
gives me a more than favorable account of you; but 
I fear that his great liking for boys has clouded his 
judgment. Frankly, I am inclined to believe that 
there never were such boys on the face of the round 
earth as he describes you to be. If there be any 
such, they certainly have never fallen under my 
observation.” 

Here Tommy Madden burst into a giggle, and 
several others, suspecting some hidden playfulness 
in the professor’s remarks, smiled amiably. Mr. 
Roberts’ face turned a shade darker, and the fur- 
rows on his brow came out in stronger relief. 

“I don’t want any unseemly levity,” he an- 
nounced glaring at Tommy. That giddy young- 
ster composed his countenance at once, and 
winked furtively at his particular friend, Harry 
McCabe. 

“Boys,” continued Mr. Roberts, “are the strong- 
est evidence we have of original sin.” 

The listeners took a moment or two to reflect 
on this difficult saying. The thoughtful silence was 


THE LEST TOOT FORWARD. 


7 


interrupted by another giggle; but the face of its 
author was not in evidence. 

“God in His inscrutable providence/' went on 
the professor, with much earnestness and a de- 
cided exhibition of nervousness, “has decreed that 
for a certain number of years creatures of a non- 
descript nature that are subsequently to develop 
into men should vegetate and squirm, and while 
they are vegetating and squirming and exercising 
a pernicious activity, the whole world must wait 
in patience until the thing called a boy ceases to 
exist, and grows into something valuable, as well 
for what he performs, as for what he promises. 
The very best boys are more or less disagreeable 
in the exhibition of their finest qualities. Of 
course, we who are older can read between the 
lines, and discern in their unpleasant traits and un- 
winning ways the promise of the good there is to 
be, as in the grub one may detect the promise of 
the butterfly — See here, you young fellow on the 
fourth bench to the right, will you stop your fidg- 
eting? I am sure that you are annoying your 
bench-mate very much.” 

“No, sir; he isn't,” responded the bench-mate in 
question. “We’ve been sitting together ever 
since — ” 

“Silence, sir; I shall allow no talking in this class 
without permission. Now, take out your Viri 


8 


THE BEST TOOT FORWARD. 


Romae ; and you, Mr. Giggler,” — here he pointed 
an ominous finger at Tommy Madden — “will read 
the first sentence of the day’s task.” 

While Tommy was finding the lesson, his fellow- 
students were reading the year’s disasters in Mr. 
Roberts’ face. 

He was older by four or five years than their 
former beloved teacher. His hair was very thin in 
front; and, as he put his head close to the printed 
page after the manner of near-sighted readers, the 
curious and alert observers noticed a bald spot on 
the crown, very like, in size and in shape, to the 
clerical tonsure. His face was thin and sharply 
drawn, and so rigidly set about the corners of the 
mouth that an imaginative boy with a sense of 
humor might wonder whether, in the event of a 
smile, it might not crack in several places. There 
were dark circles about his eyes, his complexion 
was sallow, and he had a trick of compressing his 
lips which was the nearest thing possible to biting 
them. All in all, he looked like a man who had 
suffered much, and laughed little. 

In reading the Latin sentence, young Madden 
made five mistakes in quantity. At each mispro- 
nunciation, Mr. Roberts put on the countenance of 
pained surprise. 

“Do you call that reading Latin?” he inquired 
severely. “That will do, sir; suppose your neigh- 
bor tries it.” 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


9 


The neighbor in question was Eddie Miller, the 
best Latin scholar of the class, and as nice a boy 
as ever attended Delta College. 

Before beginning to read, Eddie tried to smile 
in a friendly manner at Mr. Roberts. But what 
with the loss of his much loved teacher, and what 
with the strange and forbidding ways of the new, 
Eddie Miller, in common with the rest of the class, 
had become extremely nervous; accordingly, his 
smile, instead of being easy, was forced and un- 
natural. A character reader would have inter- 
preted it as the smile of the heavy villain when he 
wishes to look particularly scornful and reckless. 
Whether Mr. Roberts was a reader of character or 
not remains to be seen; it suffices for our present 
purpose to know that he read the smile wrong. 
Eddie had just enough composure left to see that 
what he had intended as an overture of peace had 
been received as a hostile and unfriendly demon- 
stration. A new wave of nervousness swept over 
him. It is not to be wondered at that he said 
omaverunt for amaverunt, and that he pronounced 
bibere, as though it belonged to the second con- 
jugation. In the middle of the sentence Miller lost 
control of his eyesight. The page before him be- 
came a blur; then he did the most natural thing 
under the circumstances — which was also the most 
ridiculous thing — he burst into a meaningless 
laugh. 


IO 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD . 


Mr. Roberts screwed his face tight enough, to 
all appearances, to snap the strings of a violin, sat 
bolt upright in his chair, and, folding his arms, 
thus addressed Eddie in particular, and the class in 
general : 

“Although I did not expect you, sir, or any of 
you, young gentlemen of the class of Second Aca- 
demic, to correspond very closely to the descrip- 
tion given of you by your late teacher, still I looked 
forward to common politeness, at least in the be- 
ginning of our dealings with one another. And 
now, before I have fairly introduced myself to you, 
my first remarks are received with giggles, and I 
am openly insulted by a young gentleman who says 
Inhere and amaverunt.” 

Poor Eddie Miller, who during his three years 
at college had rarely if ever heard a harsh or re- 
proving word from those who had to do with him, 
here made a silent protest with eyes and shoulders 
and hands. 

“Don’t interrupt me, sir.” The teacher paused 
for a moment. The boys sat in the momentary 
quiet occasioned by dismay and surprise. “You 
began your reading with a smile of impudence, and 
ended it with the laugh of insult; and now you are 
in the sulks.” 

After his silent protest, Eddie, very red in the 
face, had lowered his eyes, and was listening with 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. u 

the most respectful attention. It is not so easy, 
very often, to distinguish respectful attention from 
a fit of the sulks, or from covert defiance. 
Mr. Roberts had fallen into a very natural mis- 
take. 

‘‘Suppose you try that sentence,” said the 
teacher to the boy who sat in front of Miller. 

When Tony Froller tried to find the place, he 
wished there was a mountain to fall upon him. 
A minute passed: for all the success he met with, 
he might have been looking for a needle in a hay- 
stack. 

“I — I can’t find the* place, sir; I believe it’s tore 
out of my book.” 

To make a long story short, not a single student 
of Second Academic could be found to read that 
first sentence correctly, and all in consequence 
were ordered to report after class. The worst had 
come, and with the worst the nervous terror was 
over. A short time often brings about marvellous 
changes. Before the end of the second hour, the 
spitball made its first appearance in that class; and 
during the afternoon, the “nigger-shooter,” and 
several breaches of order hitherto unknown fore- 
boded that the golden age was over and gone for- 


ever. 


I 2 


THE BEST BOOT FORWARD. 


CHAPTER II. 

IN WHICH EDDIE MILLER TELLS HIS TALE OF WOE , AND 

RECEIVES , IN RETURN, AN ASTONISHING REVE- 
LATION FROM HIS OLDER BROTHER. 

In all his experience with young people, the 
writer of this veracious chronicle has met with but 
one Eddie Miller. Had he not met him, it is not 
at all unlikely that he would have pronounced 
Eddie the very last thing* in the way of a possible 
boy. Having met him, however, he is compelled 
to admit that his like is rarely found. Still, were 
it not for Eddie, this story would not be worth the 
writing, and, if written, would be far less satisfac- 
tory in its conclusion. 

With more than average gifts of mind, Eddie 
was a lad of no little tact. He said and did the 
right thing at the right time. Furthermore, he 
was exceedingly good-natured, and, at the same 
time, unselfish — qualities of character which are 
found in conjunction by no means so often as is 
popularly supposed. His extreme kindness may 
be judged from the fact that none of his playmates 
had ever heard him utter an uncharitable or bitter 
word against any human being. When his com- 
panions were in trouble or distress, they were wont 
to confide their woes to him, and, such was the 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


*3 


power of his sympathy, they never departed uncon- 
soled. 

No matter whither Miller went, he was always 
in good company; for bad boys changed, for the 
time being, their natures when within reach of his 
direct influence. He seemed to carry about with 
him an atmosphere of sunshine and cheerfulness. 
He judged others at their best, and, by a sort of 
responsive instinct, others showed him their best. 
So ingenious was his charity in the kindly inter- 
pretation of others’ sayings and doings, that he ex- 
plained away what was, on the face of it, wrong or 
mean with a seeming subtlety, which was in effect 
the highest and noblest form of simplicity. True 
kindness is the deadly foe of sin; and I have no 
doubt that young Miller exercised an influence 
for good which was almost apostolic. Briefly, his 
was a large, a noble, and a religious nature. In 
his manner of dealing with others he was the very 
opposite of his new teacher. Mr. Roberts ap- 
peared to expect the very worst of human nature; 
and he got exactly what he expected. Eddie looked 
for the best, and he was seldom disappointed. 

Just turned thirteen, he was rather stout, with a 
ruddy, smiling, good-natured face, and clear, gray 
eyes, which looked straight into yours with the 
frank gaze which is the prerogative of innocent 
and unstained youth. He was heavily, almost 


i4 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


clumsily built; and, though fairly good in games — 
by reason of his strength, which atoned, in a meas- 
ure, for his want of agility — he was hardly superior 
in this respect to the average college boy of his 
years. But as a scholar and a leader he was easily 
the best of all the junior students. The heights 
of noble simplicity are equivalently the heights of 
subtlety; and no boy politician — how great soever 
his diplomacy — could have hoped to exert the 
powerful influence of Eddie Miller. His face, as 
the attentive reader may have already gathered, 
wore, in general, an expression of cheerfulness; 
but at supper on the evening of the eventful 
day when Mr. Roberts assumed charge of the 
Second Academic class, he looked pensive and 
troubled. 

When there is question of her own child, very, 
very little indeed escapes the attention of the 
mother. 

“What’s the matter, Eddie?” Mrs. Miller in- 
quired. 

“Oh, nothing very much, mother; things are a 
little upset.” 

“That’s no reason why you should not eat your 
supper, Eddie,” continued the mother. “My 
little boy will become ill, if he allows things to 
trouble him so far as to take away his appe- 
tite.” 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


i5 


“I suppose your invincible baseball team has 
been beaten,” put in his brother Janies. 

“No; it’s not that. I wish it was. I could stand 
the loss of a game well enough. But it’s worse. 
Our old teacher who prepared us for our first com- 
munion and who was so kind to all of us has been 
called away. Every fellow in the class feels bad 
about it. I don’t think there was a single one of 
us who didn’t like him immensely.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Miller received this bit of news 
with expressions of genuine sorrow; James and the 
younger children with perfect indifference. 

“And who has taken Mr. Phillips’ place?” asked 
the father. 

“He’s a new man — his name is Mr. Roberts.” 

At the mention of this name, James Miller gave 
a perceptible start. His face flushed; he was on 
the point of uttering an exclamation; but restrain- 
ing himself, he lifted his teacup to his lips, and con- 
cealed as best he could his emotion. His mother 
alone noticed that he had been startled. 

“Mr. Roberts, Mr. Roberts,” repeated Mr. Mil- 
ler; “it strikes me that I have heard that name be- 
fore.” 

“He was my teacher at St. Bruno’s the last year 
I was there,” observed Janies with the least little 
quiver in his voice. He spoke in a low tone. The 
words were not intended for the ears of Eddie. 


6 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


Mother and father looked at each other mean- 
ingly; there came an awkward pause. Eddie had 
intended to say nothing further; but the sudden 
silence drove him into speech. 

‘Tm afraid,” he continued, “that there’s going 
to be a lot of trouble in the class; and I guess that’s 
what makes me feel so out of sorts. You see, 
nearly the whole crowd of us made our first com- 
munion last year, and since that time a lot of us 
have been going to communion nearly every week 
regularly. We have all of us kept together, and 
on Saturday after school, we go off together to the 
church to confession. But this afternoon only 
three or four went. The others were too cross, 
and said they didn’t feel in the humor for going. 
Mr. Roberts doesn’t show that he likes boys. In 
fact, he talks as if he had no use for them at all. 
But then the boys don’t seem to like him, for that 
matter; and perhaps it’s our own fault. Perhaps 
it’s because we’re in bad humor, and not used to 
his ways. Some of the fellows played some pretty 
queer tricks in the class-room this afternoon. I 
don’t think they intended to be mean; but they 
didn’t seem to act like themselves at all. It looks 
now as if our class was going to pieces, and up to 
this time we’ve had a splendid reputation, and we 
have always thought that we were the banner class 
of the college.” 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


17 


“I hope,” said Mr. Miller gravely, “that my boy 
will not fall into line with the rest of the class, in 
the event of its ‘going to pieces,’ and that he will 
stand up for what he knows to be right.” 

“I’ll try to, father; but I’m a little afraid that I’ll 
find it hard to get along with him nicely. He 
gave me a scolding to-day, though I didn’t quite 
see why. He seemed to think that I was impudent. 
It was a mistake, though; for I never dreamed of 
doing such a thing. All the same, I don’t blame 
him in the least. You see, I got rattled, and, when 
he asked me the lesson, I read the Latin wrong, 
and lost my head, and acted awfully foolish. The 
harder I tried, the worse I got; and I ended by 
breaking out into the stupidest kind of a laugh. 
He spoke crossly to me. I wonder why it is 
that a fellow doesn’t like a man who speaks crossly 
to him for a day or two after? That’s the way 
I feel now. But I reckon it will be over to- 
morrow.” 

“The reason is very simple, my boy,” the father 
made answer. “Human nature is a very lovely 
thing; but it isn’t altogether lovely. It is dosed 
too heavily with original sin. Those feelings of 
vexation are perfectly natural, but not altogether 
creditable. Fight against them, and don’t go to 
bed with the least bit of dislike for your new 
teacher.” 


1 8 THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 

“Thank you, father; I’ll try.” 

When supper was over, James took Eddie by the 
arm, and drawing him aside, said in a mysterious 
whisper: 

“Slip up quietly to my room, Eddie, I want to 
see you about something.” 

When Eddie entered James’ bedroom a few min- 
utes later, he was surprised to find his brother 
seated with his face buried in his hands. 

“What’s the matter, James? Even before I saw 
your face, I could tell by the way you were sitting 
that you were awfully solemn.” As James raised 
his head, he added, “Good gracious! you look as 
pale as a ghost.” 

The elder brother did not answer promptly. 
Apparently, he was trying with doubtful success 
to swallow something. 

“Got something stuck in your throat?” asked 
Eddie, anxiously. “Suppose I hit you over the 
back. That will fetch it.” 

For answer, James broke into a laugh; and with 
the laugh much of the strain and agitation under 
which he had been laboring disappeared. 

“I was trying to swallow something, Eddie; but 
not what you thought. I was trying to swallow 
my feelings; and I think I have succeeded. Now, 
Ed, I’m going to tell you something about myself 
that’s been kept a secret from you ever since it 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


*9 


happened. It was my hope and desire that you 
should never know it. But that hope is gone; and, 
whether I like it or not, I feel that I ought to tell 
it, both for your sake and my own.” 

Eddie became as solemn as a judge. His brother 
had never spoken to him thus seriously within his 
farthest remembrance. 

“You needn’t be alarmed, though. Let me be- 
gin from the beginning. Why don’t you sit 
down? Well,” he went on, as Eddie seated him- 
self, “as you may remember, I attended St. Bruno’s 
for nearly three years; and I can honestly say that 
when I began my third year there, I was not at all 
a bad boy, and what little influence I did exercise 
among my college friends was, at all events, not 
for evil. It was in that year that Mr. Roberts be- 
came my teacher.” 

“What! Our Mr. Roberts?” cried Eddie, almost 
jumping from his chair. 

“If it weren’t he,” answered James with a sickly 
smile, “I wouldn’t be telling you this story. Per- 
haps you never would have heard it. Well, I was 
a pretty lively boy, and so it came to pass that one 
thing or another that I did out of sheer thought- 
lessness was misunderstood by Mr. Roberts. He 
got it into his head that I was trying to annoy him. 
As a matter of fact I did annoy him considerably; 
but, then, as is often the case with thoughtless 


20 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


boys, I had no intention of doing so; and in reality 
was not thinking of him at all. At first, when he 
called me to account, I tried to see things the way 
he saw them, and submit nicely. I must say, too, 
that although he was mistaken as regards my in- 
tentions, he was otherwise kind and reasonable. I 
think that we would have gotten on very well to- 
gether, had it not been for two or three boys in my 
class. They managed, just at this time, to get my 
confidence, and then they did everything in their 
power to set me against Mr. Roberts. The worst 
of it is, they succeeded; and soon they persuaded 
me to think that Mr. Roberts was down on me. 
That settled it. Then, of course, I began to grow 
sore and suspicious and narrow. Next, the one 
topic of my spare time was my grievances. I be- 
gan to go around with the hang-dog air which the 
college tough affects; and very soon every bit of 
influence which I possessed went for evil. Well, the 
end of it was that the entire class, with scarcely an 
exception, went wrong; and I was the ringleader, 
and, in consequence, was dismissed from college.” 

“Is that so, James?” 

“It’s the one bitter memory of my life. My dis- 
missal meant more to me than you can imagine, 
Eddie. I was not a good boy when I left in dis- 
grace; I believe that as a rule no boy in a Catholic 
school can be what he ought to be, if he has a 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


21 


strong feeling of dislike towards his teacher, and 
allows himself to be guided by such a feeling. For 
a year or so after leaving school, I went about like 
a bear with a sore head. Everything at that time 
promised my turning out a sour, useless, growling, 
good-for-nothing fellow. And still during this 
period I could not forget, in spite of everything I 
did, that, before I got under the influence of those 
fellows who made a cat’s-paw of me, I had had the 
idea of becoming a priest. Indeed, I was hesitat- 
ing between the priesthood and the religious life, 
when the ugly part of me began to assert itself. 
The remembrance of this soured me all the more. 
Well, there’s no use in crying over spilt milk. I 
tell you this to make you understand how I feel 
now in looking back over those ugly days. It is 
all over and past now. I came to my senses after 
a while — through my mother, Eddie, and through 
— but that’s a matter which I need not speak 
about. And now that three years have passed 
since my dismissal, I see only too clearly how un- 
just and unkind I was to Mr. Roberts. It was 
chiefly owing to my leadership that the class he 
taught showed him every imaginable manner of 
meanness. I have since learned that when Mr. 
Roberts came to St. Bruno’s, he had to deal with 
boys for the first time, and that he has had noth- 
ing to do with them since. After leaving St. 


22 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


Bruno’s he was engaged in entirely different work. 
I suspect, too, that the reason for his giving up 
class-work was owing to his health; the year with 
me and the others almost ruined his health. Now, 
you begin to understand, Eddie, why it is that he 
thinks so little of boys.” 

“Yes, indeed,” Eddie made answer. “I’m afraid 
that I have judged him very rashly. I’ll be more 
careful next time. No wonder, James, that he 
doesn’t trust us yet.” 

“Oh, if you only knew the way we treated him,” 
returned the elder brother earnestly, “you would 
hardly think it possible that he would ever trust 
boys again. It was not the ordinary, the unor- 
ganized meanness of boys' he had to suffer from; 
our conduct was practically conducted on the plan 
of a conspiracy, which made it a thousand times 
worse than it could be if it were a go-as-you-please 
affair. The treatment he got from us was some- 
thing awful. It makes me feel mean to this day 
whenever I get to thinking of it. Till I came to 
hating Mr. Roberts, I had no idea how much mean- 
ness was in me. Now, Eddie, I can never begin to 
make any sort of reparation for what I have done; 
but you can help me, and, in a way, take my place. 
If you are willing to do what you can, you will do 
me the greatest favor I could ask of you, and, at 
the same time, you will avoid the danger I fell into. 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


2 3 


I used all my influence to spread evil; you must 
make up for me by using your influence for good. 
Stand by your teacher, Ed; don’t get into the 
sulks; don’t become a growler and a sore-head; 
keep your temper first and last and all the time, 
and — and — it will be a good thing all around.” 

These last words did not exactly convey the 
thought which James was minded to utter; but be- 
ing of the masculine gender, he yielded to the mas- 
culine reticence, and indicated by his manner the 
thought and feelings which he had not the courage 
to express in language. 

Eddie was deeply moved — more so than he cared 
to show. 

“I’m going to act on your advice, James, and 
I’m very glad you spoke to me about this affair. 
Perhaps I should have fallen into line with the 
other fellows, if you hadn’t told me your story. 
But now I’m quite sure that I will keep my temper 
and not become ugly and uncharitable. If Mr. 
Roberts doesn’t get along with the class it won’t 
be my fault.” 


24 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


CHAPTER III. 

IN WHICH ARE SET DOWN MINUTELY THE TRIALS AND 
TRIBULATIONS OF MASTER CYRIL HARMON , SHOWING 
THAT SUCCESS IS SOMETIMES DEARLY BOUGHT; 

AND IN WHICH EDDIE MILLER FINDS THA T 
HIS OWN POPULARITY STANDS IN 
THE WA Y OF HIS PERSONAL 
INFLUENCE. 

In the first weeks of the school-yeai , the Second 
Academic gave every promise of remaining true 
to its record, and of being, whether in lessons or 
in conduct, the model class of the college. Before 
the end of September, it had lost its fair name and 
belied its promises; while many of its members had 
so far declined upon a lower level as to be rated 
among the most troublesome students of Delta 
College. And this marked deterioration, I am 
sorry to say, was not confined to studies and dis- 
cipline. Not only had idleness and meanness slipped 
in, but carelessness in religious duties and practices 
had become painfully apparent. Few of the class 
remained faithful to their habit of frequent con- 
fession and communion; several ceased to attend 
the meetings of the Sodality of the Blessed Virgin, 
and others were on the point of taking their 
names from the list of membership. Yet there 
had been a time when the Sodality Director could 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


2 5 


count with certainty upon the attendance of the 
entire class. To make matters worse, divi- 
sions had arisen among the boys, and, in conse- 
quence, there had crept in grumbling, envy and 
jealousy. 

Eddie Miller was no longer the leader; in fact 
there was no leader. The boys had split up into 
little cliques. Had Eddie sided with the great 
majority in condemning Mr. Roberts, his mastery 
of the situation would have been assured; but it 
would have been a mastery which would have been 
unto evil. As it was, his uncompromising loyalty 
to his teacher cost him the confidence, if not the 
respect, of more than two-thirds of his classmates. 
The breach, small though it was in the beginning, 
gave promise of widening with the progress of the 
school-year. 

But there was another and a more serious cause 
of disunion. Among the students in Second 
Academic was a quiet, neat, tidy lad named Cyril 
Harmon. Cyril was neither a man’s boy nor a 
boy’s boy. Some women and a few men of a cer- 
tain temperament would have been charmed with 
him; for in addition to good moral traits he was se- 
date, serious, not given to games that involved 
any sort of roughness, and always neatly dressed. 

A legend circulated among his classmates to the 
effect that he had never yet worn out a single suit 


26 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


of clothes, but had simply outgrown them. Others 
boldly stated that once when he had left the class 
with a scared face and on the plea of sickness, it 
had all been due to a hole in his stocking, which, 
being something new and unimagined in his ex- 
perience, had terrified him beyond measure. 

It gave the entire class infinite delight to watch 
him dust his seat before occupying it. It was 
claimed that he always used the same handker- 
chief, which, nevertheless, as he drew it from his 
pocket, was ever clean and neatly folded. 

Another rumor had it that young Cyril kept a 
collection of dolls at home, each of them arrayed 
with a splendor which might have put to shame 
Solomon in all his glory. These dresses, it was 
asserted with perfect seriousness, were basted and 
sewed and what not by Master Cyril himself, 
whose skill in work of that kind was recognized to 
such an extent in his own neighborhood that his 
girl acquaintances came to him with their dolls, as 
the elders, their mammas, went to the “Ladies’ 
Merchant Tailor.” Tommy Madden was author- 
ity for the statement that Cyril was so skilled in 
the uses of the skipping rope as to be able to “read 
the Bible.” 

Now young Harmon, in the eyes of the new 
teacher, was the oasis in the Sahara of the Second 
Academic. He was publicly praised for his man- 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


27 


ners, his neatness, and his gentle ways. Thence- 
forth the poor little lad found it difficult to get 
along at all. With the exception of Eddie Miller 
and a few who were still faithful to their former 
leader, all set their faces against him. He was 
treated roughly at every opportunity. Previously 
he had encountered the merest toleration; but now 
he was persecuted, and those who ventured to 
sympathize with him were looked upon as milk- 
sops. In vain did Eddie Miller do everything 
that the ingenuity of his tact could devise to soften 
the lot of Cyril Harmon; he failed signally, and 
in the failing lost part of his own influence. Day 
after day the boys went on from unkindness to 
unkindness, from meanness to meanness. And 
yet, as Eddie stoutly maintained in the face of ap- 
pearances, they were, every one of them, really 
kind-hearted and well-intentioned. 

On the first of October the class was more dis- 
orderly than usual — which is saying a great deal. 
The floor was littered with paper and rubbish. 
The spitball and those little paper pellets which 
supply the ordinary ammunition for the treacher- 
ous rubber shooter were in plentiful evidence. 
Tommy Madden was particularly and pertina- 
ciously active in the forenoon, and contributed 
much towards giving Master Cyril Harmon several 
particularly bad quarters of an hour. To protect 


28 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


his innocent neck, the poor victim of young Mad- 
den’s attentions pulled up the collar of his coat, 
and bent his head till nothing of it could be seen 
from behind save a stray lock of hair which had 
been won from its accustomed place by the tous- 
ling hand of his bench-mate. Not content with 
these measures for his personal security, Cyril used 
his arm as a wall to screen that side of his face 
which was within shooting range of the indefati- 
gable Tommy. This young gentleman, however, 
was by no means alone in the work of promoting 
disorder; an able following of mischief-makers lent, 
him valuable support. Mr. Roberts, looking very 
worn and weary, devoted himself more particularly 
to checking the open outbreaks of Madden, but 
in vain; Tommy would not down. The unhappy 
teacher, who certainly was honest and outspoken, 
had within the past two weeks proclaimed more 
than once in no uncertain terms that Madden was 
by all odds the most troublesome boy he had ever 
met. On this particular morning, he repeated 
the remark with a few intensifying variations. 

In the afternoon, there came something of a lull. 
Tommy had become strangely quiet; and Cyril 
Harmon once more turned down the collar of his 
coat, and rested his hands peacefully upon the 
desk. As the hour went on, Mr. Roberts sudden- 
ly grew uneasy. A calm so intensely tropical 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


29 


gave promise of a storm. Instinctively, he cast 
a glance at Madden. The boy’s eye was dull; his 
face very pale, and the habitual grin had utterly 
disappeared. A look of concern came upon the 
teacher’s face. For a moment the stern lines and 
the set expression softened with kindness. 

“Come here, Tommy,” he said in a voice that 
was at once low and sympathetic. 

Tommy came forward with the walk of one 
whose feet are uncertain. He was pointed one 
way and going another, like a rowboat crossing a 
swift current. 

The boys failed to notice the humor of Tom- 
my’s progress; they had become intensely quiet. 
There was a note in the teacher’s voice which had 
never before fallen upon their ears. 

Mr. Roberts touched Tom’s forehead lightly, 
then caught his wrist. 

“Do you feel any pain, my poor boy? I’m 
afraid you’re ill. What’s the matter?’’ 

“I don’t know what it is, sir. I’ve a queer feel- 
ing in my back, like it was inger-rubber; and I’m 
dizzy and sick to my stomach.’’ 

Placing a protecting arm about the lad, Mr. 
Roberts, apparently oblivious of the class, helped 
him gently, almost tenderly, out of the room. 

As the footfalls in the passage without died 
away, pandemonium should have ensued; but it 


30 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


didn’t. There was a dead silence. In the midst of 
it, Eddie Miller arose. He was trembling, and as 
pale as Tommy. 

“Look here, fellows; I’ve got something that I 
want to say. I’ve been wanting to say it for some 
time; but somehow, I couldn’t get the right chance 
very often, and when I did get it, somehow or 
other I couldn’t say it.” 

“Go ahead.” “Go on, Eddie.” “Don’t be 
afraid.” “You’re all right,” were the various ex- 
clamations of encouragement which greeted Ed- 
die’s somewhat awkward address. 

“Well — I don’t want to preach: it’s not in my 
line; so don’t take me wrong from the start. Boys, 
I want to say a word in favor of Mr. Roberts.” 

There was a murmur of surprise. 

“I don’t think that we have been quite fair to 
him so far, and it’s about time for us to do a little 
better.” 

Something like a hiss was heard. 

“Drop it,” growled one. “Sit down,” added an- 
other with good-natured brusqueness. 

“But look, boys,” pleaded Miller gaining cour- 
age in the face of opposition; “we have all of us just 
seen that Mr. Roberts is a good deal kinder than 
any of us thought he was. Perhaps we’ve been 
too ugly to give him a chance that way. If he had 
been Tommy Madden’s own mother, he couldn’t 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


3 1 

have been any nicer to him than he was just now: 
and Tommy hasn’t been so very kind to him 
either.” 

The boys exchanged doubtful glances. Eddie’s 
pleading still hung in a doubtful balance. 

“If he has been a little stiff with us,” continued 
Eddie quickly, “you will understand from what I’m 
going to tell yo'u that he acted about the way any 
of us would have acted, if we had been in his shoes. 
The last time he had anything to do with boys 
before he came here, he had to deal with a very hard 
crowd, and they were pretty ugly with him. They 
were just fierce, and never gave him a fair chance. 
They made it up among themselves to do every- 
thing wrong. The end of it was that the whole 
class went to pieces, and some of the boys in it were 
expelled from college. I know this, because I got 
it from my brother who went to school at that col- 
lege, and was in Mr. Roberts’ class. That was the 
only time that Mr. Roberts ever had anything to 
do with boys at school, and he came here remem- 
bering how he had been treated. And, now, fel- 
lows — honest — have we done anything to change 
that opinion of his?” 

There was a moment’s silence: the boys were 
not quite convinced. 

“ You have,” cried one, and his words were taken 
up, and repeated by the others. 


32 


THE BEST BOOT FORWARD. 


“No; I’m afraid I haven’t. But anyhow, he 
judges us as a crowd. And now look at the way 
things are. We aren’t the same crowd we used to 
be. In the beginning of this school-year and all 
last year we were all the best kind of friends; and 
now some of the fellows won’t so much as look at 
each other, much less talk together. Th^n again, 
we’re not getting on in our studies the way we 
used to, and the honest fact of the matter is that 
pretty much all of us have changed for the worse — 
I know for one that I have.” 

“No, no,” came from many: “You’re all right.” 

“And even if you’re not,” one of the older boys 
of the class observed, “it’s his fault.” 

“I know that I’m changed for the worse,” re- 
plied Ed to the last speaker; “but it is no fault of 
Mr. Roberts’; it’s my own; and unless I make a 
new start, it will go from worse to worse. But I 
want you all to help me. You see- — ” 

Just then the door opened, and Mr. Roberts en- 
tered. Had Eddie been caught in a crime, he 
could not have looked more guilty. The teacher 
gazed at him for some moments in great indigna- 
tion. 

“Go to your seat, sir,” he said in his most per- 
emptory tone. 

Alas for Eddie Miller! After all, he was only 
human. Like the rest of us, he was born in a state 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


33 


of original sin. But a second before he had been 
counseling respect and obedience; now he himself 
gave the example of insubordination. He colored 
to the roots of his hair, and, flashing a defiant look 
at Mr. Roberts, he returned to his place with his 
head very high, and with the first evidence of a 
pout that any of his classmates had ever seen upon 
his usually cheefful face. 

Mr. Roberts grew angrier; his face-twitched, and 
his voice became strangely altered, as he said fur- 
ther: 

“Miller, I’m astonished at you. You have not 
only been out of order, but you have had the im- 
pudence to resent being called to account. Come 
to me after class. Do you understand me, sir?” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Eddie with perfect respect. 
The poor fellow — such was his mastery over him- 
self — already repented of his burst of temper. He 
was ashamed and sorry; the more so as he realized 
in a flash that all had seen his peevishness, and — 
worst of all — had sympathized with him. 

“I was not so foolish,” continued Mr. Roberts, 
“as to expect you boys to keep perfect order in my 
absence; but I did think that you would have sense 
enough to keep your places.” 

Even had Eddie Miller not given the example 
of insubordination, these few remarks would have 
been enough to destroy the effect of the boy’s 


34 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


speech. Not only had his words gone for nothing, 
but the present state of affairs was worse than be- 
fore. With the exception of Cyril Harmon, there 
was now not a single boy who was not set against 
the teacher. Because Eddie was so loved, his un- 
dertaking failed. Oh, if he could but recall that 
little outburst of temper! But it was too late, and 
the evil was done. 

Had he taken Mr. Roberts’ first correction in 
a spirit of submission, Miller might have explained 
thehnisunderstanding; but as it was, he felt guilty; 
and accordingly spent an hour after class in com- 
mitting to memory forty lines of English verse. 


CHAPTER IV. 

IN WHICH EDDIE MILLER TAKES COUNSEL OF FATHER 
NOLAND , AND LEARNS A FEW THINGS 
WORTH REMEMBERING. 

Instead of going home at once, Eddie, upon 
reciting his penance, paid a visit to his friend and 
confessor, Father Noland. This good and vener- 
able man had devoted his life to the welfare of 
boys, and even in his declining days, his sympathy 
for them was as undulled as it had been when he 
was in his prime. Age and infirmity kept him from 
going about much; but even in his room he was 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


35 


able to bring his boys around him, and to aid and 
direct them safely through temptation and trial. 

“Welcome, Eddie; I am glad to see you. Take 
a seat, and tell me your little trouble.” 

“Who told you I was in trouble, Father? Did 
you hear what happened in class this afternoon?” 

“Oh, it was a class affair, was it? No; I didn’t 
hear of anything; but, at the same time, though 
my eyes are not so sharp as they used to be, they 
can see a little yet. Your face tells me that some- 
thing has gone wrong. You look discouraged; 
I do not remember to have ever seen you in that 
dangerous state of mind before.” 

“Well, Father, I do feel rather out of sorts. I 
guess I’ve got what they call the blues, although 
I didn’t know what the word meant a few weeks 
ago. But I don’t see exactly where the dangerous 
state comes in.” 

“Yet it does come in all the same, my boy. As 
a matter of fact, sadness generally makes people 
weaker to resist temptation. God doesn’t want us 
to be out of sorts. We should look upon an in- 
clination to fret and worry as a sort of temptation 
in itself. But you didn’t come here to hear me 
philosophizing. You want to tell me your story, 
or some of it ; and I want to send you home com- 
forted and smiling, like your own self. Next to 
fighting sin, I think that the best thing a man can 


36 THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 

do is to take up the cudgels against discourage- 
ment. So go ahead, my boy.” 

“I suppose you know, sir, that things have not 
been going any too well in our class since Mr. 
Phillips went away, and Mr. Roberts took his 
place?” 

“Indeed! I must say that I suspected as much. 
In fact, I heard some remarks from one or two in 
your class some time ago, which pointed that way. 
That was just after the change was made. For 
the last week or two your class hardly comes near 
me. Of course, Eddie, you get on with Mr. Rob- 
erts, don’t you?” 

“I’m sorry to say, Father, that I do not; and to- 
day I made an awful break. The funniest thing 
about it is that it happened just while I was try- 
ing to work for him. He had left the class for a 
few moments, and I took the chance — the boys, 
you see, happened to feel a little more kindly to- 
wards him than usual — to try and bring them 
round a little. While I was talking, he came in. 
Of course I was out of order. He spoke to me 
pretty roughly, and somehow or another, before I 
knew it, I lost my temper, and acted as if I didn’t 
care what he thought about me. I was sorry right 
away; but I had spoiled everything, and I feel more 
ashamed of myself than I ever did before. My try- 
ing to get the boys into better humor was the 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


37 


worst failure I ever made. The fellows are now 
more set against him than they were before. But 
I’m afraid I’m going ahead too fast; I’ve begun at 
the end of my story instead of at the beginning. 
If I’m not taking up too much of your time — ” 

“Nonsense, my boy! You are welcome to all the 
time I have, and if we run out of that, we may try 
to borrow some one else’s. Just begin from the 
beginning, and tell me everything. The better I 
understand the state of affairs, the better shall I 
be able to help you.” 

Without malice, without omission, and helped 
to completeness of detail by an occasional question 
from Father Noland, Eddie gave a good account 
of the Second Academic class as it had been before 
Mr. Roberts’ arrival, and as it was at that moment. 
He also narrated at length the conversation which 
he had held with his brother James, and informed 
Father Noland of the promise he had given on that 
occasion. 

“And now, Father,” he concluded, “you see how 
I tried to carry out that resolution to-day, and 
what a dismal failure it was. I tried to get the 
boys on my side, so as to bring them over to the 
teacher’s side; and I did bring them over, but not 
in the right way. The more they like me, the more 
they are down on Mr. Roberts. If I try to say 
anything in his favor, they will begin growling 


38 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


about the way he treated me. Unless there’s some 
sort of a change among us fellows, we’ll all become 
a lot of hoodlums.” 

Father Noland arose, and took several turns 
about the room. He was absorbed in thought. 
At length, he resumed his chair, and addressed 
himself to Eddie. 

“You don’t know, Eddie, how much your story 
has interested me. It would have set me thinking, 
even if you had not told me about that talk with 
your brother. I’m very glad that you didn’t leave 
that part out; for if I can give you any help at all, 
it will chiefly be from the light which your broth- 
er’s story has thrown upon the subject. His story 
reminds me of something that happened when I 
was a boy at college. Among the students was 
one who was a very dear friend of mine. He was 
the most variously gifted boy I have ever come 
across, and that is saying a great deal. He was 
also very modest, and, while full of fun, quite re- 
ligious. One day it was his lot to appear in public 
and deliver an elocutionary selection. He came 
upon the stage gracefully, made a nice bow, and 
began his lines so nicely that we all felt we were 
going to enjoy a great treat. Presently — it was a 
slip of the tongue, I believe — he made a mispro- 
nunciation. The blunder was rather laughable. 
There was a titter; the poor fellow heard it, and 


THE BEST FOO'l FORWARD. 


39 


became confused. He began to balk and stumble. 
There was more laughing. But even that stopped 
when the boys saw that he had lost his head com- 
pletely. In the midst of a dead silence he stood 
there trying to remember his lines; but his mind 
had become a blank. Finally, he left the stage, 
smarting under the first great humiliation that had 
ever darkened his days at college.” 

“That was pretty rough,” was Miller’s comment. 
“Didn’t they have a prompter?” 

“Prompter! Had the whole faculty been shout- 
ing the words into the poor fellow’s ears, he would 
not have been able to go on. Well, from that day 
and until he left school, you could not get him to 
appear in public. He continued as before to lead 
his class; he continued as before, to be beyond all 
doubt the most accomplished boy in the college; 
but no inducement could prevail on him to appear 
in public. After college, he became a member of 
a great religious order. He made long and serious 
studies with the success that had been with him at 
college. He became a great theologian and, at the 
same time, a man of eminent culture. His influ- 
ence over people individually was something ex- 
traordinary. Yet, whenever he attempted to ad- 
dress a multitude, all power seemed to go out from 
him at once. As an orator, he was an utter failure. 
Had he been able to talk with any degree of flu- 


40 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


ency in public, his power for good, great as it 
actually was, would have been a hundredfold 
greater, and he would have been, I doubt not, one 
of the greatest and most famous priests in the 
West. Now I have sometimes thought, in the 
light of later experiences, that he might have been 
saved as a speaker if he had been taken in time.” 

“What a pity he wasn’t, Father. But how could 
he have been saved?” 

“I found out the means of curing such cases at 
a convent entertainment some years ago. The 
different numbers of the programme for the first 
hour or so had all been carried out creditably, when 
a young lady appeared on the stage to deliver a 
rather lengthy narrative poem. She spoke with 
fluency and vivacity, and gave promise of making 
the hit of the afternoon. Suddenly her memory 
failed her. Although there were over a thousand 
people in the hall, you could have heard a pin drop 
as she came to that awkward pause. The em- 
barrassed audience seemed to be holding its breath, 
Meanwhile, the poor girl fastened her eyes on the 
floor, smiled deprecatingly, then frowned, and 
flushed with mortification; but nothing would 
come, and the prompter was not at hand. At last 
she could bear the situation no longer and turning, 
she hastened off the stage. As she crossed to- 
wards the wing, I noticed that it was all she could 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


4i 


do to repress a sob. Well, the programme was 
continued in regular order, and we were all trying 
to forget the failure, when, suddenly and unan- 
nounced, she appeared on the stage again. Of 
course, she was received with a round of applause. 
She deserved it; for she was about to undertake a 
plucky thing. She not only began her recitation 
over, but she went on from beginning to end with- 
out a moment of hesitation, acquitted herself 
superbly, and left the stage the heroine of the day. 
Doubtless, one of the good Sisters who understood 
her thoroughly had induced her to make the ven- 
ture a second time. It was a risky thing to advise; 
but it was a case of kill or cure; and in this case it 
'resulted in a perfect cure. The girl is now one of 
the best elocutionists in her native town. Often 
since have I thought that if my friend had been in- 
duced to try his piece again, and if he had tried it 
successfully, his whole life would have been other 
than what it was. Instead of being an orator as he 
should have been, the very thought of appearing 
to address a large audience was enough to throw 
him into extreme nervousness.” 

“That’s so, Father,” assented Miller. 

“Well, to return to the real point: how does all 
this bear upon Mr. Roberts’ case ? So far we have 
been talking about stage fright; but don’t you see, 
Eddie, that besides stage fright there may be other 


42 


THE BEST BOOT FORWARD. 


kinds of frights? Now your teacher, I believe, 
has contracted a bad case of boy fright. The 
treatment he received at St. Bruno’s was simply 
outrageous.” 

“My brother has told me over and over again,” 
interrupted Eddie, “that it is almost impossible to 
exaggerate the meanness of himself and his crowd 
towards Mr. Roberts.” 

“At all events,” resumed Father Noland, “it has 
resulted in affecting the nerves of Mr. Roberts, it 
may be, for life. I knew Mr. Roberts when he was 
a little boy at college, and he was certainly a bright 
and agreeable youngster, very good-natured; but, 
if anything, a trifle too open in speaking out the 
thing he thought. He was the soul of honor. 
Evidently, his experiences at St. Bruno’s have had 
a very sad effect upon him. He labors under the 
impression that boys — college boys — as a class, are 
evil, unkind, rude, vulgar, dishonest, and unworthy 
of being trusted ; and true to his character, he does 
not hesitate to say what he thinks. It would be 
unlike Mr. Roberts to think one thing and say an- 
other.” 

“I’ve noticed that he always says just what he 
thinks,” said Miller. “But, Father, isn’t it a pity 
that he has such an idea of us boys ? Why all boys 
are good — at least,” he added, as he noticed the 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


43 


smile on Father Noland’s face, “all the boys that* 
go to this college.” 

“Well, whether they are or not, the fact remains 
that while the boys in your class are much better 
than Mr. Roberts gives them credit for being, still 
they are not angels, and by no means half so good 
as they thought they were.” 

Miller caught his breath with astonishment. 

“You are surprised, are you? Why, your own 
account shows that your class has acted in a most 
disappointing way. Mr. Roberts had hardly en- 
tered the room when you boys began to cut up; 
and you have kept it up steadily ever since. Pre- 
viously you were well behaved because you liked 
and respected Mr. Phillips. The fact that you 
changed your conduct with the change of teachers 
shows that you were not acting entirely on prin- 
ciple.” 

“It seems to me, Father, that I would never have 
lost my temper in dealing with my old teacher; and 
now that you speak of the matter, I feel more 
and more that we have been anything but fair to 
Mr. Roberts.” 

“Worse than that, Eddie, you have not been fair 
to yourselves. We are apt to judge of people as 
they show themselves to us. Now Mr. Roberts 
has seen the very worst side of you boys all along; 


44 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


no wonder, then, that he has an unfavorable opin- 
ion of you. Now, tell me frankly, Eddie, have you 
and your class gone out of the way in the least to 
show your teacher your good side?” 

“No, sir; I believe not.” 

“Have you any reason to think that anything 
that you and your class have done since he took 
charge of you is calculated to give him a favorable 
idea of boys?” 

“That’s a fact,” said Eddie, rubbing his hands 
through his hair. “We haven’t done a thing when 
he was around that showed him the least sign of 
what is good in us.” 

“Now, Ed, you have a high opinion of the boys 
in your class. Wouldn’t it be a splendid thing if 
we could get Mr. Roberts to think as well of them 
as you and I do?” 

“I’d do anything in the world, Father, if I could 
succeed in that.” 

“The great question is how t go about it.” 

“Is there any way, Father?” 

“Perhaps; let me put my thinking cap on for a 
fe>v minutes.” 

Father Noland, accordingly, put his “thinking 
cap” on — that is, he arose from his chair, and, 
with his hands behind his back, began pacing up 
and down the room. Suddenly, he made a stop 
directly in front of his visitor, and for fully half a 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD . 


45 


minute stared that young gentleman full in the 
face. But as far as any expression of recognition 
was concerned, Eddie might have been on the other 
side of the globe. As suddenly as he had stopped, 
he resumed his walk. After a few turns the look 
of perplexity which had been so long fixed upon 
his countenance vanished; a happy smile took its 
place, and he exclaimed half aloud, “I’ve got it.” 

“Eddie,” he began, as he resumed his chair, “do 
you know that you have a great deal of influence 
among the boys of the Second Academic class?” 

“A little, Father; but not one-tenth so much as 
people think I have.” 

“Call it little or call it great — of one thing I am 
sure: you have much more influence than the aver- 
age boy, much more probably than you have any 
idea of.” 

“All the same, Father, I cannot do anything with 
them on this point. Even the fellows who like me 
a good deal won’t listen to me when I try to say 
anything about our teacher.” 

“That’s because you haven’t gone about it in the 
right way. But you need not lose courage: the 
battle is not over yet; and you have to do a deal 
of fighting before it’s won. Eddie, I’m going to 
give you the hardest job you ever tried to man- 
age. It’s a very hard job, indeed. I should never 
have thought of suggesting it to you, if I had not 


46 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


known how strong your influence was for good. 
Even taking that into consideration, I cannot 
promise success. But if it does turn out well, God 
alone knows how much good it will do/’ 

“I’ll do anything you say, Father.” 

“Well, here’s the state of the case: Your teacher 
came here with his faith in the goodness of boy- 
nature considerably shaken. The treatment which 
he received from the students at St. Bruno’s has 
wrought upon his nerves in such a way that he is 
in a morbid condition on that one point. Since 
his arrival here, your class has acted in anything 
but a creditable manner. Instead of showing their 
best they have shown their worst side to him, and 
have, accordingly, confirmed him in his prejudices 
against the small boy. Now, you must set to 
work, and get the boys of your class to show him 
their best selves, and to put the best foot forward.” 

“/, Father?” 

“Not you alone, but you and all the boys in your 
class.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand, Father.” 

“You must act as you all acted when Mr. Phil- 
lips was your teacher. If you do that for some 
time, he will come to see you as you really are. Do 
you understand? You must force yourselves, for 
some time, perhaps, to show what is best and no- 
blest in you. Of course, in the present state of 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


47 


affairs, this will be no easy task. What you did 
spontaneously for Mr. Phillips, you must now do 
with effort, and by means of organization. In 
other words, you must go about the thing system- 
atically.” 

“Oh, I see the idea now — at least in a vague way. 
But what do you mean by saying that I must go 
about the thing systematically?” 

“This: you must do for the sake of good ex- 
actly what your brother and his companions at St. 
Bruno’s did for the sake of evil. You must all of 
you band together for this one purpose. In order 
to get the boys to do this, you must take them 
one at a time. If you begin with the crowd, as you 
did in your attempt this afternoon, you are sure 
to fail. Start first with those over whom you have 
most influence; and get them to make other con- 
verts. If you are to succeed, you must bring over 
the entire class.” 

“That’s a great idea,” cried Eddie with enthusi- 
asm. “Oh, if I can only manage to work it!” 

“If you go about it in the right way there is 
every reason why you should hope. Now as to 
ways and means of showing what is best in you, I 
leave that to yourselves. If you once take up the 
idea, you will find devising ways and means as in- 
teresting almost as a game. So, now, my boy, go 
on, and make your first converts, and then lay 


4 8 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


your heads together. Don’t lose courage. The 
difference between the man who succeeds and the 
man who fails is that the one doesn’t give in (if he 
gives in at all) until he’s sure that he’s beaten, while 
the other loses courage before the battle is fairly 
begun.” 

‘Thank you, Father. Won’t you please help us 
as much as you can?” 

“I’ll remember you all in a special way in my 
prayers. If I knew of any better help than prayer, 
I would give it to you. It’s worth praying for, and 
all of you must pray as well as work. Of course, I 
will expect you to come in occasionally and tell me 
how things are getting on. Now remember — the 
best foot forward. Good-by, Eddie, and may God 
bless you.” 


CHAPTER V. 

IN WHICH TOMMY MADDEN TAKES A PRONOUNCED STAND 
AND , BY EXTRAORDINARY MEANS , MAKES AN 
EXTRAORDINARY CONVERSION TO THE 
SIDE OF LAW AND ORDER. 

On leaving Father Noland’s room, Eddie be- 
thought himself of Tommy Madden. As prefect 
of the Junior Sodality, Eddie followed the gracious 
and pious custom of visiting all sodalists in time 
of illness. Fifteen minutes later, he was seated be- 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


49 


side Tommy, who with a towel wrapped about his 
forehead, and a blanket about his body, lay, the 
picture of desolation, in bed. 

Madden was too sick to smile. His face grew 
pathetic as he described the pains which were rack- 
ing his body. As he had never been sick abed since 
the fourth year of his interesting existence, he 
took his little trouble quite seriously.. Miller, un- 
consciously, it may be, realized the situation, and 
proceeded to divert Thomas from the considera- 
tion of his ailments. He told him with pleasing 
details all about the last game between the Detroit 
and the Milwaukee clubs; and before he had 
reached the fifth inning Madden was sitting up in 
bed, his eyes shining, and his tousled hair rising 
in irregular ridges above the solemn towel which 
obscured his brow. When Miller came to the great 
double play in the seventh, Madden pulled the 
towel off, and sent it straight at the head of the 
family cat, who, frightened and indignant, tumbled 
out of the room, taking the towel with her. 

Had the cat been the greatest of clowns, she 
could not have been more ridiculous. The two 
roared with laughter, as, with what looked sus- 
piciously like a double back somersault, she dis- 
appeared through the doorway. 

“How’s your headache?” asked Miller abruptly. 

“What headache? — Oh!” cried Tom, suddenly 


5 ° 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


recollecting himself. “It’s — it’s a little better. It 
was mighty bad, though, when Mr. Roberts called 
me to his desk. Oh, I say, Ed, I never felt meaner 
in my life than I did to-day.” 

“Why? Were you so sick?” 

“Sick, nothing! You think I mind a little thing 
like that?” 

Miller could not restrain a grin. Ten minutes 
before, Tom had been speaking of his health as 
though he were contemplating a speedy dissolu- 
tion. 

“Of course, I was sick all right,” continued Mad- 
den, somewhat disconcerted by the grin. “But 
that wasn’t what made me feel so mean. The 
thing that hit me was when Mr. Roberts took me 
out, he was so awfully kind to me. When I told 
him how sick I felt, he looked as bad as if he was 
the fellow that was sick. And then he did such 
a lot of little things for me, that I felt as small as 
I could. You see, I had been worrying the life 
out of him all the morning — and some of the things 
I did were on purpose too. And then the way he 
heaped shovels of coal on my head was a caution.” 

Eddie was too much alive to the chance now 
offered him of gaining his first recruit to take no- 
tice of this astonishing scriptural misquotation. 
Here was just the opening, the more gratifying 
that it was wholly unexpected. 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


5 


“If Mr. Roberts knew you as well as I do, 
Tommy, he’d like you just naturally.” 

“That’s because I’ve treated you decent.” 

“Well, why not treat your teacher decently? Mr. 
Phillips liked you very much, and you liked him.” 

“Yes, Mr. Phillips knew me, and I knew 
him.” 

“Exactly; now isn’t it about time to give Mr. 
Roberts a chance to know you, too?” 

“Hey?” 

“You have found out that Mr. Roberts isn’t half 
so bad as you thought, and I know that you would 
like to let him know, if you only saw your way of 
going about it.” 

“You can bet on that,” answered Tommy em- 
phatically. 

“Now you're talking, Tom. If you behave for 
Mr. Roberts the way you did for Mr. Phillips, he 
will begin to know you too, as you have begun to 
know him.” 

“I’m going to behave in class,” bawled Tom, 
as he kicked the blanket into the middle of 
the room, “if I have to put myself into a strait 
jacket.” 

“Then you’re the boy for my scheme. You see, 
Tom, it would be absurd for us to expect Mr. 
Roberts to care for us when he always sees us at 
our worst; if we want him to like us, we must make 


5 2 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


up for lost time, and show him ourselves at our 
very best. We haven’t been fair to ourselves since 
he took charge of us, and it’s no wonder that he 
thinks we’re a hard crowd, because that’s exactly 
the way we have acted. Now, Father Noland has 
suggested this scheme to me, and we’re going to 
try to get up a society among our fellows who will 
be willing to act on their best behavior for a while. 
Will you join?” 

“You bet!” roared Tommy. “Say, Ed, tell me 
all about it.” 

Beginning with Tom's departure from the class- 
room, Eddie related all that had taken place up to 
the present hour. Young Madden listened with 
brightening eyes. 

“My!” he exclaimed when Eddie had come to an 
end, '“but that’s a great scheme. It will be as good 
as a play. You can count ir^e in from the start. 
I don’t care what anybody says, Mr. Roberts is a 
peach! I could see it in his eyes, and in his face, 
and in everything he did this afternoon.” 

Eddie laughed genially. 

“Put her here on that,” he said, extending a 
hand which the other grasped cordially. “Just 
think of it, Tom; this time yesterday, if this plan 
had been in my head, you would have been one of 
the last boys I’d think of speaking to about it; 
and to-day, you’re the very first; and now that you 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


53 


are in it, 1 hope that you'll try to get some others 
interested in the scheme.” 

“Of course I will. There’s Harry McCabe who 
lives across the street; I think I'll fetch him in 
right off.” 

“Oh, I say,” protested Ed, “you’re not going to 
begin with him f Why, he didn’t get along any too 
well with Mr. Phillips, and he’s more down on Mr. 
Roberts than any one in the room. When I tried 
to talk to the boys this afternoon, he was the one 
who did the most kicking. If he comes in at the 
end, it will be a good thing even then.” 

Tommy smiled sweetly. 

“Don’t you fret about him, Eddie,” he said. “You 
just leave him to me, and I’ll have him in all right 
at the very beginning.” 

“How are you going to go about it?” 

“Oh, easy. You see, I’ll just reason with him at 
first, and try to make him see the thing the way 
we see it. If he doesn’t, I’ll punch him till he 
does.” 

“But we mustn’t get in members that way, Tom; 
we mustn’t have any fighting at all. Father No- 
land doesn’t intend us to work it that way.” 

“Yes; but you see, Father Noland and you don’t 
know McCabe as well as I do. It’s the only way 
to fetch him; I know him like a book. Of course, 
I’ll try to persuade him all right; but then, you see, 


/ 


54 THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 

I may have to punch his head. He won’t mind it 
from me anyhow; he knows me pretty well, and 
he’s used to my ways. Of course, I won’t smash 
his head if I can manage to talk it into him in any 
other way.” 

“Well, Tom, suppose we split the difference. 
You try to persuade him; but if you can’t do it the 
first time you try it, let the head-punching business 
go; and wait for a while before you do any- 
thing more. Then you and I can have a talk 
about it.” 

“Do you mean I’m to promise not to punch his 
head?” inquired Thomas, looking hurt and in- 
jured. 

“That’s right,” answered Ed blithely. 

The cat had just put a timid foot upon the door- 
sill. Tom let his boot fly at it vindictively, and, as 
pussy disappeared with the speed of a lightning 
express, looked somewhat relieved. For the short- 
est fraction of a second after the hasty, departure 
of the cat, there was an expression of perplexity on 
his face; suddenly it gave way to a bright smile. 

“All right, Ed; you’re the boss, and I’ll do what- 
ever you want. All the same, you’ll find that Mc- 
Cabe will be in it Monday morning.” 

And so it came to pass. McCabe was the sec- 
ond boy to register as a member of this amiable 
band of amiable conspirators. Many weeks elapsed 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


55 


before Eddie learned how this remarkable conver- 
sion had been affected. 

It came about quite suddenly on the Sunday af- 
ternoon which followed Eddie’s visit to Master 
Madden. Tommy, feeling quite well, and nothing 
the worse for his short stay in bed, had called the 
innocent and unsuspecting McCabe over to his 
yard for a friendly chat on the new movement. 
They held converse beside the cellar door. Tom 
spoke at length and with considerable earnestness; 
but his listener merely answered these eloquent 
pleadings with, “Think I’m a fool?” “See any 
green in my eye?” 

Tom renewed his pleadings, and spoke with ad- 
mirable patience. In answer to this second effort, 
McCabe with much scorn, remarked: 

“You goin’ to be a sissy-boy, eh? I never 
thought — ” 

What young Master McCabe “never thought” 
will remain a mystery; for at this juncture, Madden 
got him around the neck, and tumbled him reck- 
lessly into the cellar. Before McCabe could give 
vent to his astonishment and indignation, Tommy 
had banged the door to, and squatted upon it. 

“Hey, hey!” bawled McCabe at his loudest. He 
added in a less ear-piercing tone: “You better let 
me out of this, you freak, or it will be the worse for 
you. My brother will be home on a vacation to- 


56 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


morrow, and he’ll fix you. You’ll wish you wasn’t 
born. Let me out, I tell you.” 

“Your brother!” exclaimed Madden, scornfully. 
“I don’t care if your whole family gets home. I’m 
not going to let you out until you listen to rea- 
son; you can just bank on that. It’s pretty dark 
in there, isn’t it?” 

“You just get off that door.” 

“I will, just as soon as you are ready to listen 
to reason. Are you ready yet? The sooner, the 
better.” 

“Hi! hi!” bawled the prisoner, “help!” 

“Prince, Prince,” yelled Tommy, drowning the 
voice of the victim. “Come here, old fellow.” 

As the “old fellow” did not acknowledge this 
call, Tommy put two fingers into his mouth, and 
gave a shrill whistle; in answer to which, a large 
and not very amiable looking bull-terrier came 
leaping to his master. 

“Hey, there, Prince,” continued Tom, arising 
and pointing to the door, “Watch it — sick him! 
Pats, old boy, rats!” 

The dog made for the door and beat upon it as 
though he would burst through it, barking at the 
same time with a violence which was enough to 
unnerve even the redoubtable Harry McCabe. 

“As you don’t care to listen to a fellow who only 
wants to reason with you,” roared Tom above the 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


57 


fierce growling of the dog, “I’ll leave you to the 
care of my pup; he’s a new one, and doesn’t know 
you from Adam. He has no use for strangers. If 
you try to come out, you won’t know what’s 
happened to you. Good-by; I’ll come around 
after supper, when you’ve had lots of time to 
think.” 

“Tom! Tom!” implored the thoroughly fright- 
ened captive, “you know you and me’s always been 
partners.” 

“That partnership is busted,” returned Tom, 
austerely; but his face, could Harry have seen it, 
did not at all tally with the severity of his tones. 

“Don’t you believe it, Tom. I’m on your side 
every time, even if it’s to stand up for old Roberts.” 

“Who?” roared Madden. 

“Mr. Roberts, I mean.” 

“Next time you’d better start off with saying 
what you mean. Well, are you quite sure that 
you are willing to listen to reason?” 

“Let me out, and I’ll listen to anything.” 

“Honest Injun?” 

^Sure! Hurry up, Tommy; you always was a 
good fellow, and I’ll stand by you every time.” 

The dog proved to be a more difficult subject to 
persuade than Master McCabe. Prince had set his 
heart upon exploring the mystery beyond the cel- 
lar door. He had shown his interest in McCabe’s 


58 THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 

remarks by howling every time that interesting 
young gentleman opened his mouth to speak; and 
he seemed convinced that the boy behind the cel- 
lar door would be worthy of closer study and in- 
vestigation. Accordingly Prince took no notice 
of his master’s repeated commands to depart, and 
was only persuaded to obey by a hearty kick from 
the victorious Thomas. Harry McCabe within five 
minutes of his liberation was entirely of the same 
mind with his “partner.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

IN WHICH IT IS SHO WN HO W CAKES AND LEMONADE CAN 
HELP IN A GOOD CAUSE , AND THE CLASS BEGINS 
TO PUT THE BEST FOOT FOR WAR D. 

The morning and the afternoon of Monday were 
devoted by Tom and Eddie to the gaining of new 
recruits. Fifteen boys — numbering more than 
one-third of the class — were won over with but 
little difficulty. Some of these gave in their alle- 
giance because they were good sensible boys, and 
liked the plan both for their own sakes and for the 
sake of the general well-being of the class. Others 
were attracted and gained by a certain novelty in 
the plan. Others, again, gifted with a sense of 
humor, saw much promise of fun in the enterprise. 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


59 


Two or three, absolutely without any convictions 
one way or the other, yielded simply to the wishes 
of Miller. 

After class, an informal meeting was held in the 
hay-loft above the stable at the back of Mr. Mil- 
ler’s house. The occasion was made doubly inter- 
esting by a supply of cake and lemonade. Luckily, 
the day, for that season of the year, was unusually 
warm; and when Eddie and Tom appeared, each 
carrying a pitcher in which the ice jingled pleas- 
antly, while the golden lemons danced to the mo- 
tion, several who had thus far been faint-hearted, 
then and there declared that Eddie’s plan of cam- 
paign was the jolliest thing they had ever been 
concerned in. But when the cook entered a little 
later with a dish of cream cakes, the delight of all 
knew no bounds. 

It was almost impossible for the next ten min- 
utes to make out what the young gentlemen were 
talking about. There was enthusiasm enough and 
to spare. But while one boy was admiring the 
object of their association, another was assenting 
heartily to his remarks under the impression that 
the topic of admiration was the lemonade, while a 
third would project himself into the conversation 
by assenting with the first and the second speaker, 
under the belief that they were speaking of cream 
cakes. 


6o 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


On this occasion, Ed felt what a blessed thing it 
was to have a big brother; it was James Miller who 
had provided these good things. As he gave Ed- 
die the money, he had added, “And if you want any 
more just call on me. I’m with you in this enter- 
prise to the end!” 

It was James Miller, too, who called the meeting 
to order, and started the organization by making 
a sort of speech. 

“Boys,” he began, “I wish to congratulate you 
on being here. You have a good object in view; 
for you are determined that from now on you are 
going to make it a point to put the best foot for- 
ward — to show your best side and not your worst. 
Every man has his best and his worst side. The 
man who always uses his worst side is a villain, 
the man who always uses his best side is a saint; 
most of us show a little of both sides, and are 
neither the one nor the other. A boy, who gets 
into the habit of being lazy and idle and impudent 
and troublesome, may flatter himself that, in spite 
of everything, he has a good heart. But men and 
boys are not measured by the good deeds that they 
can do, but by what they actually do. From what 
I have heard, you boys have been showing your 
worst sides for some time. If you go on much 
longer as you have been going, you will actually 
become what you have lately appeared to be — 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


61 


good for nothing. We do not measure things by 
what might have been, but by what is. To-day 
you are going to make a new start, and I tell you 
in advance that you cannot fail if you hold to- 
gether. In reality, and in the long run, a man is 
what he shows himself to be. If you help one an- 
other to be what you know it is your duty to be, 
the result will make you ever so much happier and 
better, not only now, but for the rest of your lives. 
I do not think that I have expressed myself very 
clearly; but if you think about what I have said, 
you will see that there’s something in it. Your 
meeting here shows that you are going to cultivate 
self-respect, and no boy can cultivate that, and go 
very far wrong. Here’s to the health of the new 
society.” 

James bravely drank a glass of lemonade; the 
boys, nothing loath, followed suit, and then broke 
into applause. 

The meeting lasted for something over an hour 
and a half. Had not the lemonade and cakes come 
to an end, the proceedings might have been going 
on yet. It had been the intention to have a con- 
ference upon ways and means once a week. But, 
in the first flush of cake and lemonade enthusiasm, 
this wouldn’t do at all. 

“Let’s meet here every day,” suggested Horace 
Hanlon. He had eaten an unbelievable number 


62 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


of cakes, and drank five glasses of lemonade, with- 
out being any the worse for it. 

As everybody arose to second this motion, there 
was no need of putting it to the vote. 

The next time Mr. Roberts entered his class- 
room, he was treated to a surprise. In a tiny glass, 
a bunch of fresh and fragrant flowers was awaiting 
him upon his desk. 

Had it been a mock bouquet or a cabbage, the 
teacher would not have been taken aback; but this 
particular sort of attention from boys was some- 
thing new in his experience. He turned from the 
flowers, and glanced suspiciously at the faces of 
the students. He failed to notice the air of re- 
spectful attention which most of them were wear- 
ing, but he did not fail to observe the sneers and 
mocking smiles of several, who, unaware of the 
plan of campaign, were making no attempt to con- 
ceal their scorn and disgust. 

“A new way of showing me their dislike,” 
thought Mr. Roberts, bitterly. “I never suspected 
that boys of fourteen and fifteen could be guilty of 
such sarcasm and irony.” And walking over to the 
nearest window he threw the flowers out into the 
street, without so much as saying a word. 

Tommy Madden’s face grew aflame, and he 
dropped his head. He raised it presently, and 
doubled his fists. But it was not with his teacher 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


63 


that he was angry. He had seen the broad smile of 
scorn on the face of Charles Dutrow. Dutrow was 
the largest boy in the class, and, as it happened, was 
also the most hopeless dunce. 

“Just wait till recess comes, Mr. Dutrow,” solilo- 
quized Madden under his breath, “and I’ll give you 
such a lesson in politeness.” 

When the bell rang, Tommy hastened from the 
room, and stationed himself near the foot of the 
stairs, at the door which opened upon the play- 
ground. Presently Dutrow, looking perfectly con- 
tented and fatuous, came down the stairway. 

“Look here, Dutrow,” cried Tom with all the 
abruptness of strong indignation, “if I had a sickly 
smile on my face like the measly thing you had on 
when Mr. Roberts got those flowers, I’d go to a 
doctor, and have it cut off. It was uglier than a 
wart. If you only knew how you looked when you 
smile that way, you’d drop dead. I saw you, and it 
gave me a pain.” 

As the astonished Dutrow listened to this ad- 
dress from a lad who hardly reached his shoulders, 
he turned several colors. 

“What do you mean, you little brat?” 

“What do I mean, you long-legged freak?” 
bawled Tom, losing what little of temper he started 
out with; “I mean that you ought to get a book or 
a private teacher 01 something, and study some- 


6 4 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


thing about manners. Those flowers were none 
of your funeral; and the way you acted was like a 
cow.” 

For answer, Dutrow struck Tom with his open 
hand. Madden returned this attention with his 
closed fist. Uttering an exclamation of rage, the 
larger boy caught his opponent in his arms and 
flung him roughly to the ground. Madden was up 
at once, and was about to renew the quarrel, when 
Miller caught him by the arms, while two of the 
larger students seized Dutrow. 

“Let me go; let me at him; he said I was a cow,” 
bellowed Dutrow. 

“And so you are; you’re more kinds of a cow 
than any fellow I ever saw,” panted Madden, 
crushed but undaunted. “Let me loose,” he en- 
treated Miller; “I’m not afraid of him.” 

“What’s the matter now?” asked a prefect, as 
he made his way through the crowd which had al- 
ready gathered. 

“He called me a cow,” blubbered Dutrow, over- 
come by various emotions, “and I couldn’t stand 
it.” He put his hand to his eye, which Madden 
had reached in the first blow. 

“I only meant he didn’t have no manners,” ex- 
plained Madden. 

“I’m afraid there are no manners to spare be- 
tween you,” said the prefect sternly, despite the 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD . 65 

grim smile which the question of manners between 
two such boys could not fail to arouse. “Of 
course, you are boys of the Second Academic 
class. Go to the office of the prefect of discipline, 
both of you, and wait there till he has time to at- 
tend to your case.” 

Fighting was considered a serious matter in 
Delta College. Also, Tommy had a delicacy about 
explaining the cause of his ire. Both, accordingly, 
received a serious warning, which was emphasized 
by a strapping. Tom endured his punishment 
stoically. He felt that he was suffering persecu- 
tion for justice’s sake. Dutrow evinced strong 
emotion. 

“Say, Charlie,” remarked the victim of persecu- 
tion to his sobbing companion, as the two went 
up the stairway together. “I’m sorry I got you 
into trouble. I’m not going to call you a cow any 
more.” 

“You’d better not,” snarled Charlie, blowing his 
nose. Madden was sharp enough to detect in the 
other’s voice a strain of weakness. 

“That’s right; but then you’re going to do the 
right thing by Mr. Roberts after this, the same 
as the rest of us.” 

“I’ve behaved just as well as you.” 

“Well, we’re both of us going to do a heap bet- 
ter from this out.” 


66 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


For answer, Dutrow growled and muttered 
under his breath. 

Nevertheless, for the next two days, he was per- 
fectly respectful to his teacher, and then, before 
his eye had quite come back to its normal size, he 
was persuaded to enter his name on the list of those 
concerned in the new movement by no less a per- 
son than Master Thomas Madden himself. 

CHAPTER VII. 

IN WHICH THE CLASS GOES UPON DRESS PARADE, AND 
CYRIL HARMON SUFFERS PERSECUTION. 

On the succeeding Friday morning, twenty-two 
students of the Second Academic presented an un- 
usually fine and striking appearance. Their shoes 
were so blacked that they glittered. In his coat 
each member of this shining array wore a bouton- 
niere, while the taste and variety shown in the 
dressing of hair suggested the suspicion that many 
a big sister had been called upon to contribute of 
her taste and dexterity to the extraordinary dis- 
play of neatness. 

Two or three had gone so far as to make use of 
their sister’s cologne — which came near to leading 
to unpleasantness. McCabe and one or two others 
maintained that boys ought to draw the line at 
cologne. 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


67 

“I don’t see why,” returned one of the young- 
sters under criticism. 

“There’s no use in running things into the 
ground,” explained McCabe. “A fellow that wants 
to smell pretty hasn’t any more sense than a girl. 
Anyhow, where are we going to stop?” 

“That’s what I’d like to know?” Madden chimed 
in. “The way it is, some of the fellows have their 
heads parted in the middle — I mean their hair, of 
course — you fellows needn’t grin that way. I can 
stand that even if they don’t pretend to be football 
players, and look like dudes. I can stand that; 
but, if we don’t stop somewhere, the next thing 
the fellows will be going around in corsets.” 

This speech got the boys into good humor. It 
was settled out of hand that the line be severely 
drawn at cologne; and a committee of two was 
appointed to see that all traces of this objection- 
able detail in the toilet of some be effaced before 
the opening of class. 

A word in explanation of this sudden burst of 
neatness. Mr. Roberts, not without good cause, 
had made some comments on the slovenliness in 
dress shown by a number of his pupils. A hint 
from him, at that time, would have been enough; 
but he had given more than a hint. 

Nevertheless, when the boys entered class, he 
failed to appreciate the demonstration. 


68 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


“They are mocking me again,” lie said as he 
gazed grimly upon the shining array. 

Without a single word of comment, without giv- 
ing the least sign to show that he had noticed any- 
thing out of the common, he proceeded with the 
hearing of recitations. 

“We got the rubber again,” said Harry McCabe, 
gloomily, when recess came. Harry, particularly 
when he was excited, was wont to sink into the 
language of his neighborhood, where there existed 
a decided preference for strong and popular expres- 
sions to the exclusion of more classic forms. 

“Yes; it’s no use,” added Hanlon. “We’re be- 
having like a lot of angels, but nobody seems to 
appreciate it.” 

“Just look at the way we’re keeping silence,” 
put in Dutrow. 

“You’d think we were a deaf and dumb asylum,” 
said Harry Warner. “Why, sometimes it’s so dead 
quiet that you could hear a pin drop.” 

“No, you couldn’t,” cried Madden. “I know it, 
because I tried it. Last hour when it was so quiet, 
and we were all a little put out because Mr. Rob- 
erts wouldn’t take notice of our styles, I let a pin 
drop seven or eight times, just to see. I heard it, 
because it fell at my feet, and I had my ears 
stretched to listen; but I’ll bet none of you fellows 
did.” 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


69 


“Anyhow,” resumed Dutrow, "I don’t see any 
use in our behaving ourselves, if no one seems to 
care whether we do or don’t.” 

“Never say die,” said Eddie Miller. “After all, 
whether we’re appreciated or not, we’re doing the 
right thing; and the right thing is worth doing on 
its own account.” 

“That’s what they call acting on principle,” com- 
mented Madden with the most perfect seriousness. 

This was too much for McCabe. He broke into 
an eloquent grin — the grin we get from one who 
has known us for years, and who puts all his knowl- 
edge of us into it. Tommy grew as red as the hem*t 
of a ripe watermelon. His first impulse was to get 
angry; but his sense of humor came to his help, 
and he broke into a ringing laugh, in which he 
was joined by the entire group. 

“I thought we were going to make a great im- 
pression this morning,” continued Tony Froller, 
when the laughter had died away. 

“I do really believe that everything would have 
come our way, if it hadn’t been for that little brat 
of a Harmon,” said McCabe, gazing, as he spoke, 
with no little disgust and indignation at Master 
Cyril, who was sunning himself on a bench hard by, 
and perfectly happy in his self-imposed solitude. 

“Did you ever see such a walking stick?” asked 
Carroll Morgan. “He’s been better treated by Mr. 


70 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


Roberts than any of the fellows; and now, when it 
comes to doing the right thing, he doesn’t seem 
in the least bit interested. He could do more than 
any of us, if he wanted to help us out.” 

“Don’t be too hard on Cyril; he’s all right,” said 
Eddie Miller. “After all, he joined our crowd just 
as soon as we asked him.” 

“Yes; of course, he did,” McCabe made answer. 
“But that was simply because he didn’t have the 
nerve to say no. But just tell me what he has done 
since he joined us? He always says ‘yes’ to any- 
thing we want him to do, but any one can see that 
he doesn’t care a rap which way things go. It’s 
an infernal shame! Now to-day, when us fellows 
were dressing our prettiest he was dressed just the 
same as on any other old day.” 

“But don’t you see,” interposed Miller, “that 
he’s always nicely dressed? He didn’t have to 
make any change.” 

“At least,” growled McCabe, stealthily shying 
a pebble at Cyril’s unconscious ankles with subse- 
quent ear-piercing results, “at least he might have 
a flower in his buttonhole, same as the rest of us. 
What’s he howling about now?” 

Cyril had arisen with a certain want of delibera- 
tion in the movement and was hopping about spas- 
modically. Scarcely one of the lookers-on, I am 
sorry to say, felt in the least sorry for him. 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 7I 

“What’s the matter, Cyril?” asked Eddie, kindly, 
as he walked over and placed himself beside the 
victim. 

“Some one’s hit my foot with a pebble.” 

“Does it want its mamma?” began McCabe; but 
a look from Miller shamed him into silence. 

“I’m half sorry for you,” said Madden. “All the 
same, it served you right for not wearing a bouquet 
in your buttonhole. Why didn’t you do the same 
as the rest of us?” 

“I intended to, but I forgot.” 

“Forgot!” gasped Eddie, hardly able to conceal 
his disgust. That any boy should forget a matter 
like that! 

His classmates had some reason for being in- 
dignant with Cyril Harmon. Had he appeared 
wearing a boutonniere, it is more than probable 
that Mr. Roberts would have viewed their proceed- 
ings in a more favorable light. He knew and 
trusted Cyril; and the fact that his best pupil had 
not identified himself with the members of the 
dress parade confirmed him in his suspicions that 
there was an organization on foot with the sole 
purpose of making a mock of him. 

Harmon, in the heat and he rt of all this boyish 
enthusiasm, pursued the even tenor of his unpopu- 
lar way. His behavior, as hitherto, was unexcep- 
tionable. It is true he had joined the organiza- 


72 


THE BEST TOOT FORWARD. 


tion; but he had done so as one joins, perforce, a 
hostile camp, through fear of some greater evil. 
In a word, he was not in touch with the boys. 
Consequently, it was almost impossible for him to 
sympathize with them in their present undertak- 
ing. With each day his unpopularity was increas- 
ing, and still he seemed to take no note of this 
change of sentiment. He was blind. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

JN WHICH CYRIL TURNS THE SCALE, MR. ROBERTS EN- 
TERS THE YARD, AND A SMALL NEWSBOY 1 S 
VERY MUCH ASTONISHED. 

Although the class of Second Academic had 
been considered a model one so long as it was un- 
der the charge of Mr. Phillips, yet even in those 
golden days, it was, in one respect, open to severe 
criticism. Many of the students — Eddie Miller 
amongst them — were very poor writers; and the 
written class-exercises — however good, as regards 
the matter, were, taken collectively, of a decidedly 
unlovely appearance. 

Perhaps Mr. Phillips was to be blamed for this; 
very likely he was. But I lor one shall not be 
the first to cast a stone at him. A teacher, even 
the best, is but finite; and, what is more, he must 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


73 


of necessity be so. This may sound like a truism; 
but there be parents who, while realizing the fact, 
teem unable to reconcile themselves to it. If Mr. 
Phillips had neglected this one detail, he had dili- 
gently attended to a hundred others. 

It came to pass, then, that when, under the rule 
of Mr. Roberts, the boys set strenuously about 
showing themselves at their best, it did not occur 
to them that their written exercises left anything 
to be desired. In recitations and in conduct they 
were astonishingly satisfactory. Indeed, in the 
matter of silence, they overdid the thing. So un- 
natural did they appear, so stiff, so rigid, so un- 
like little boys, as they sat calm, composed, judicial 
and, as had been agreed, with folded arms, that 
Mr. Roberts’ suspicions grew and strengthened 
with each passing hour. 

Very wisely, and, it must be confessed, untrue to 
his usual method of acting, he chose to make no 
remark on these doubtful points; but the themes, 
handed in on the morning of the dress parade, 
gave him something certain and palpable to go on. 

“Look at these,” he exclaimed, holding them up 
to the attentive class. “Papers of this sort would 
be discreditable to the little preparatory boys. If 
infinite variety were the object at which you aimed, 
I hardly see how you could do any better. In this 
collection there is not, I dare say, one paper that 


74 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


corresponds in any way with the others. Eight 
papers have ragged edges; three look like patterns 
for some sort of a buzz-saw — each one a different 
kind of a pattern, each saw to have different kind 
of teeth. Again, some of these papers have no 
name at all signed to them; others are graced with 
the initials of their owners. Of those that are 
signed, some are signed at the top, some again at 
the bottom, some on the opposite side of the page, 
off in some obscure corner. While most of them 
have the school motto A. M. D. G., there is noth- 
ing in the style of the writing to lead one to sup- 
pose that God’s glory, whether little or great, was 
taken into consideration at all. Were a stranger to 
enter the class and ask me to show him your theme- 
work, I should really be ashamed to show them.” 

Mr. Roberts then went to the blackboard, and 
proceeded to teach them the exact form in which 
he wished them to write their themes. As he no- 
ticed that practically every boy in the class was 
industriously taking notes (with labored and ex- 
aggerated diligence, he thought) he bit his lips. 

Never were the boys more sanguine than on the 
following morning. The class was now a unit. At 
the meeting on the preceding afternoon, every 
member of the Second Academic had been in at- 
tendance. There were no recalcitrants; all were 
persuaded that it was a matter almost of justice to 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


75 


atone to their teacher for their previous wretched 
behavior. In this meeting, the question of themes 
had been discussed and arranged to their perfect 
satisfaction. 

Rarely in the history of any class-room had so 
pretty a set of themes been handed in by the small 
boys. The papers were uniform in size and appear- 
ance; and the penmanship displayed upon them 
was, for the most part, a thing of beauty. To the 
subsequent tears and similar manifestations of dis- 
tress on the part of big sisters, they were adorned 
with ribbons. McCabe’s was graced with the green 
badge which he had proudly worn on last St. 
Patrick’s Day. Madden, in addition to a beautiful 
half-yard of blue ribbon, had signed his theme, 
“Your truly friend, Thomas Francis Xavier Mad- 
den.” 

There were three rows of desks in the room, and 
each row had been assigned its particular color. 
When the trio of youths appointed to the task of 
collecting the themes had laid the exercises, one 
upon the other, before the teacher, the national 
colors, red, white, and blue, made sixty odd eyes 
dance with pleasure. 

The teacher looked at the papers, as they lay 
before him, first with a start, then with wonder and 
perplexity. A very nervous little boy in the front 
bench could not restrain himself at sight of Mr. 


76 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


Roberts’ expression, and burst into a giggle. 
Forthwith, the entire class (by a reaction not at 
all surprising, in view of their last three days of 
excessive restraint) broke into an uncontrollable 
roar of laughter. 

Of course, that settled it; if Mr. Roberts were 
sure of anything, it was that a new exhibition of 
covert impudence had been offered him in these 
much beribboned exercises. The laughter ceased 
quickly, and changed to an expression of dismay. 
Mr. Roberts then made a few remarks which 
plunged his listeners into gloom for the rest of 
that morning. 

“I say, Cyril,” began Eddie Miller as he took the 
unpopular boy aside at recess, “do you know that 
the boys of the class are awfully down on you?” 

“I guess I do,” answered Cyril, as his eyes be- 
came watery. “And I don’t see why: I’m doing 
the best I can. There was a ribbon on my theme 
this morning, the same as the others — and mine 
was the prettiest too. It cost twenty cents a yard, 
and was silk.” 

“Yes; but they haven’t forgot all that’s gone be- 
fore. You didn’t take much interest in our plans 
in the beginning, and that set the fellows against 
you worse than ever. You know, Cyril, that I have 
been with you all along; and I have tried to make 
the fellows treat you properly; but it has been hard 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


77 


work. If it were not that they are all resolved to 
stay on their good behavior, they would have 
handled you pretty roughly. If they make a break 
at all, it will be because some of them will do some- 
thing to annoy you.’ , 

For answer Cyril gave a suppressed sob. 

“I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad, 
Cyril; but I want you to know it, in order that you 
may change it. You can make yourself all right 
with the boys, if you want to.” 

“How?” asked poor Cyril, eagerly. 

“Easily. The boys want some one to go to Mr. 
Roberts after class, and have a talk with him, and 
explain matters. From what he said to-day, we 
can see that he thinks we boys are playing a sort 
of game; and we’re not. The fellows wanted me to 
go, but I’m a little nervous; and I thought you 
might try it. You’re not afraid of him, are you?” 

“I’ll go,” said Cyril, readily; “and I’ll say any- 
thing to him you want.” 

“First rate; the boys will forgive you everything, 
sure. Now all you need do is to tell him that the 
boys are all of them sorry for the way they acted 
in the beginning, and that they all intend to do the 
right thing. Tell him we’re trying our best to be- 
have, and that if he isn’t pleased with us we don’t 
wonder; in one word, make an apology for the 
class.” 


78 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD . 


‘Til do it just as soon as you want me to.” 

“Speak to him, then, when the boys go to the 
study-hall at eleven. Only be sure not to tell him 
about our having formed a sort of society; we can 
let him know of that later on.” 

And Cyril obeyed. In consequence, he came to 
the study-hall five minutes late; but looked as 
calm and serene as usual. At noon-time the boys 
crowded around him to hear the account of his in- 
terview. They looked at him kindly, and spoke to 
him as though he were a fellow creature. 

Cyril was happier at that moment than he had 
been for many a day. 

“Tell us all about it,” said Miller, in the name of 
the crowd. 

“It’s very short. I went into his room and told 
him how we are all going to try to do as well as we 
could, and how we were sorry for the way we had 
started out with him; and I said that the boys of 
the class had asked me to apologize in their name 
for the trouble we had caused.” 

“You said just what we wanted,” interrupted 
McCabe: “but what did Jie say?” 

“He looked just the way he did when we gave in 
those exercises with ribbons on. Then, he put his 
hand on his forehead, and seemed to be thinking. 
Then he raised his head, and said he was much 
obliged, and he thanked me; and that he would 
like to think about it.” 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


79 


“Is that all: what did you do?” asked Miller. 

“I went out.” 

There was an exclamation of disappointment 
from the crowd. 

“Anyhow, boys,” Miller suggested, “we ought 
to thank Cyril for what he did.” 

“So we do.” “Good boy, Cyril,” said several. 

One result, at all events, had followed from 
this move: Cyril was again in good standing with 
the class; and perfect harmony prevailed once 
more. 

In the afternoon, one of the younger boys 
brought Mr. Roberts a basket of grapes. 

“I never receive presents,” he said stiffly. 

During the two hours that followed, he was 
more constrained, more nervous than usual. 

Shortly after the dismissal of classes, he hap- 
pened to pass through the playground. Many of 
his class were standing near the hand-ball alley, 
discussing earnestly the latest phase of the sit- 
uation. Cyril was the first to notice his appear- 
ance. 

“There’s Mr. Roberts, boys,” he said in some 
wonder. They had never seen their teacher on the 
playground before. 

There was a whisper among the group; then all 
turned their faces towards him, and raised their 
hats. They could not possibly have been more re- 
spectful. But Mr. Roberts had noticed the whis- 


8o 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


pered consultation, and his suspicions were 
aroused. The old feeling that he was being 
mocked came back at once, and he returned their 
salute with unsmiling stiffness. 

As it happened, Father Noland, who but rarely 
left his room, was a witness to this scene. Thanks 
to Eddie, he was well informed of the present state 
of affairs, and Eddie, thanks to him, had not given 
up hope; and, brave himself, still held the others 
together. 

“Good evening, Mr. Roberts. I was just watch- 
ing your boys. I never saw a crowd of youngsters 
salute a teacher in better form than yours did just 
now.” 

“Yes; but did you notice how they first held a 
sort of secret consultation?” 

“1 suppose they were commenting on the fact 
that you were in the yard. Probably they had been 
talking . about you, and your sudden appearance 
rather startled them.” 

“It was not a mere comment, I feel, Father; up 
to a few hours ago, I was almost certain that those 
boys had entered into a sort of conspiracy to mock 
me.” 

“And have you changed your opinion?” 

“Not entirely, Father; but when Flarmon came 
to see me this morning, and made a speech in fa- 
vor of the others, and told me that they were all 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


81 


trying their best to behave, I was a trifle upset. 
I began to doubt.” 

“And now?” 

“I have been in a state of perplexity all the after- 
noon, not knowing what to think; but just now, 
when I saw them whisper and take their hats off 
together, I returned to my original feeling. Cyril 
Harmon has been duped by those boys, who 
have gone into a conspiracy. Exteriorly, they 
are respectful enough; but everything is so ex- 
aggerated, one can see that the whole thing is 
a joke.” 

“Nonsense!” 

“This morning I could have assured you that it 
was so. I admit that I have been a trifle shaken 
in my belief. However I try, I cannot help still 
feeling that they have combined together, and they 
make a show of doing everything I advise. But 
the show is exaggerated, and the whole thing is 
plainly ironical.” 

“Do you really think that they have combined 
to make fun of you ?” 

“That is the impression which, do what I may, 
I cannot shake off.” 

Father Noland made a slight, but impressive 
pause before speaking. 

“Might you not explain it,” he then said, “by 
saying that perhaps they had combined together 


82 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


so as to help each other to do what they knew to 
be right?” 

“Remember, Father, you are speaking of boys!” 

“Yes; boys,” repeated Father Noland, with a 
suspicion of irritation in his voice. He winced 
under any attacks upon his young friends. “Why 
not? And may you not also suppose that in at- 
tempting to act together, they just overdid the 
thing a trifle?” 

“You are making rather heavy demands upon 
my imagination, Father,” answered Mr. Roberts 
with a sad smile. 

“Not at all, sir; boys are as fine a class of beings 
as you can expect to find upon earth — at least, 
they would be, if they were properly understood.” 

The teacher laughed the laugh of incredulity. 

“Now, to take the youngsters of your own 
class,” pursued Father Noland, nothing daunted; 
“they are the most obliging, the jolliest boys I 
ever met. If a man gets their hearts, they will do 
anything for him.” 

This remark was received with the same sad, 
weary smile. 

“You are under the impression, Mr. Roberts, 
that whenever your youngsters do anything in ac- 
cordance with what you have advised them to do, 
they are merely mocking you?” 

“I was certain of it this morning.” 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


83 


“Oh! So you are beginning to doubt? Well, 
I think I can help you to remove that doubt. Now 
a good way to verify the truth or falsity of your 
belief would be to take them suddenly when they 
are off their guard — that is, before they have any 
time to concert a plan. There will be no oppor- 
tunity for collusion, and if they show the same 
good will then, it will be clear that you have made 
a mistake in judging them. I am quite confident 
that you are mistaken; will you give me a chance 
to show you that I am right ?” 

“If you wish it, Father,” returned Mr. Roberts 
with no little reluctance. 

“Good! I want an evening paper. Here’s a 
cent. Suppose you go over, and ask whether some 
one of the crowd will oblige you by going out and 
buying an evening paper.” 

Mr. Roberts caught his breath sharply, like a 
diver as he first touches the water. 

“Ask those boys a favor!” he exclaimed. 

“Remember your promise; you must stick to it.” 

Mr. Roberts turned his face away for a moment. 
He was nerving himself for an ordeal. Father No- 
land noticed, with mingled feelings of edification 
and amusement, that the teacher crossed himself, 
as does the Catholic boy before making a plunge. 

At length, he walked with slow, hesitating steps 
towards his boys. 


8 4 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


It was like a bolt from the blue. Did their eyes 
deceive them? Was Mr. Roberts actually going 
to talk to them outside of the class-room? They 
grew quite nervous as he drew nearer and nearer. 

“Excuse me,” he began in a strange, labored 
voice; “but will one of you be kind enough to go 
out and buy me an Evening Post ?” As he spoke, 
he held up the penny piece. 

Mr. Roberts expected an awkward silence to fol- 
low this remark. Could he believe his ears? Could 
he believe his eyes? Was he awake or asleep? In 
an instant the whole crowd was crushing and surg- 
ing about him, like the waves not of an angry, but 
of an enthusiastic sea. 

“I’ll get it, sir.” “No; take me.” They were 
all speaking to this effect; all were clamoring for 
the permission. 

Eddie Miller secured the penny; but before he 
could extricate himself from the crush, Madden 
and McCabe, ignoring the proffered cent, had 
broken into a run and were already at the gate. 
Then the others fell into the race; and with the ex- 
ception of the staid and methodical Cyril Harmon, 
not a pupil of Second Academic was to be seen in 
the playground for the next two or three minutes. 

There was a badly frightened newsboy in Detroit 
on that memorable afternoon. He . was standing at 
the corner, when he perceived a youngster dashing 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 85 

towards him, as though his mission were one of 
life and death. 

“Evening Post — quick,” roared the runner, then 
half a square off. 

The newsboy had barely succeeded in getting a 
copy from his pack, when Tommy Madden was 
upon him. 

He snatched the paper, and bawling out, ‘Til 
pay you some other time,” turned about, and made 
as quickly as he had come, for the college gate. 

The newsboy was about to give chase, when he 
was dismayed to see that a mob of boys was bear- 
ing down upon him. 

He turned tail and fled for his life. 

“Hey! hey!”— “Stop!”— “Hold on!”— “What’s 
the matter with you?” 

There did not seem to be anything the matter 
with the poor fellow, judging by the way he ran. 

How long this singular chase would have lasted 
had the scared little newsboy’s way been unob- 
structed, it is difficult to conjecture. A policeman 
happened to be in the neighborhood, and, natu- 
rally, took a part. 

“Stop, you young beggar,” he cried springing 
in front of him. “What’s the matter now?” 

“They want to rob me of me papers,” gasped the 
boy. 

Before the policeman could inquire into details, 


86 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


the pursuers had come upon the scene, and in the 
quickest possible time the papers had changed 
hands, the boy was putting a handful of coppers 
into his pocket, and the pursuers were making for 
the college on the run. 

Meanwhile Mr. Roberts was in a daze. While 
he was still trying to pull himself together, Tommy 
all aglow, breathless, and supremely happy, re- 
turned, and handed him the evening paper, which 
he paid for, we may add, at five times its value 
before returning home. 

“Here you are, sir; it’s the last edition,” he 
panted. 

“Thank, you, Tom.” The word “Tom” came 
from his lips slowly. He had very rarely, since he 
began to teach, called any boy by his Christian 
name. 

“You’re welcome, sir,” answered Tom, his eyes 
sparkling with gratification. He knew that Mr. 
Roberts for once was pleased with him. There 
had been many failures, but success had come at 
last. 

Just then the main body of the Second Acade- 
micians came streaming into the yard. 

“Wouldn’t you like another paper, sir?” in- 
quired Eddie stepping up with his. “This is the 
Evening Star, sir.” 

“I’m much obliged to you, er — isn’t your first 
name Eddie? — O, it is. Well, I’m much obliged to 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


87 

you, Eddie; but I shall scarcely need another 
paper.” 

“Take it anyhow, sir; if you don’t want it your- 
self, you might give it to some one of the teachers.” 

“And you’ve got to take mine too, sir,” put in 
McCabe. “Mine’s got all the baseball news. 
Don’t you like baseball, sir?” 

All the boys were gathered about their teacher 
by this time, and they awaited with almost painful 
interest the answer to this question. 

“I used to like it very much indeed when I 
was a boy. In fact, when I attended the St. Louis 
University, I was the pitcher for the college team 
for the last three years that I attended there. 
That was in the boarding school days.” 

Before the conversation, thus happily begun, 
came to an end Mr. Roberts, at the earnest request 
of all present, had undertaken to be manager of 
the Second Academic football team, Thomas Mad- 
den captain; and when, in the midst of the over- 
tures which led up to the promise, the president of 
the college happened to pass through the play- 
ground, he readjusted his spectacles, and strained 
his eyes in staring incredulity. Yes; there was no 
mistake. Mr. Roberts, surrounded by more than 
two-thirds of his class, was telling the spellbound 
listeners of a game that had been played and won 
several years before any of the listeners saw the 
light of day! 


88 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


CHAPTER IX. 

IN WHICH MR. ROBERTS GIVES AN OPINION OF HIS BOYS 

WHICH DOES NOT SQUARE WITH HIS OPENING SEN- 
TIMENTS , , AND EVERYBODY IS HAPPY. 

“A good boy,” Mr. Roberts was saying in the 
room of Father Noland, “is the noblest work of 
God. There are some men who do not believe in 
boys, but they don’t understand them. If any- 
thing annoys me, it is to hear people talking of 
youngsters as though the little fellows had no 
souls. If people were to come into my class for 
half a day — I mean people of that kind — they 
would learn more in an hour than they would or- 
dinarily learn in a year.” 

“I agree with you cordially, Mr. Roberts,” 
Father Noland made answer, a merry twinkle in his 
eye giving the lie to the extreme gravity of his 
face; “and if we could only succeed in keeping our 
boys as they are, what an immensely improved 
world it would be!” 

“Indeed, yes, Father. Just think! some of my 
boys, in fact most of them, go to holv communion 
regularly every week; and I am almost sure that 
many of them are as delicate of conscience as 
though they were leading the lives of religious.” 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD . 89 

“Er — haven’t they changed a great deal since 
they came into your hands?” 

“Not one bit, sir; it is I that have changed.” 

“O come!” remonstrated the Father. 

“That is the fact, Father; and what is more, you 
yourself believe it. Now, don’t you?” 

“In one sense the boys have not changed; but 
in another they have, Mr. Roberts. We are all 
of us full of all sorts of possibilities. Those boys 
of yours, who had been playing their best under 
their former teacher, began to play their worst 
under you.” 

“It was my fault,” put in Mr. Roberts, humbly. 
“They knew that I didn’t expect much of them.” 

“People find it hard to give us more than we ex- 
pect. Well, if your boys had gone on playing their 
worst side, they would have become far other from 
what they had been.” 

“They have taught me a lesson that I shall never 
forget.” 

“And,” added Father Noland with animation, 
“they have taught themselves one of the best les- 
sons that they can ever hope to learn either in 
school or out, namely, to suppress their worst 
selves, and to bring out their best selves, in spite of 
want of encouragement or approbation; in other 
words, they have learned to put their best foot for- 
ward under any and all circumstances, which is an- 


9 ° 


THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 


other way of saying that they have learned to act 
on principle.” 

“That’s more than I have taught, Father. 
Formerly, I was acting on principle every time I 
opened my mouth to teach my boys; but new 
teaching has become a labor of love. And yet I’m 
busier now than I ever was before. What little of 
time is left me after the work of correcting exer- 
cises and lessons is over I give to studying the in- 
tricacies of the modern game of football. You see, 
I have undertaken to be manager of their team. 
But it’s such a pleasure to work for them.” 

“How you have changed, Mr. Roberts.” 

“Thanks to you, Father. That day two weeks 
ago when at your instance I asked them to buy me 
a paper was the red-letter day of my life. I shall 
remember it along with the day of my first com- 
munion. My eyes were opened; and I saw at 
length that my pupils were not mocking me.” 

“How you have changed, Mr. Roberts,” re- 
peated Father Noland. It was the only thing to 
be said. 

“Changed! Why the whole world has become 
new, and my life is something so different from 
what it was that — ” 

Mr. Roberts finished his remark with a smile so 
natural, so easy, so full of happiness, that there was 
no need of his completing the sentence. 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


CHAPTER I. 

IN WHICH JOHN ROLFS , FOR GOOD AND SUFFICIENT 
REASONS WISHES TO GO HOME; BUT IS PREVAILED 
UPON BY THE KING OF THE COLLEGE TO 
STAY THREE DAYS LONGER. 

“I can’t stand this much longer, Fred: the best 
thing I can do is to go home.” 

Fred Williams said nothing in reply; but his face 
was full of sympathy. He was seated on a bench 
in a remote corner of the college yard. His head 
was bent towards the ground, and he was digging 
his foot into the earth. The speaker, John Rolfs, 
a thin, slender, sickly-looking boy of seventeen, 
was pacing up and down before the bench. He 
was very nervous and restless. As he spoke, he 
stood still; but upon completing his sentence, he 
resumed his nervous walk. He waited for Fred 
Williams to reply, and, when no reply came, 
glanced at his friend uneasily. Fred was fretting 
the ground more savagely than ever. But there 

9 l 


9 2 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


was a great sympathy in his face, which spoke bet- 
ter than words. 

Thus silently encouraged, John Rolfs went on 
with his plaint. 

“I got used to being called ‘Specksy’ and Tour- 
eyes,’ also ‘Pipestems’ ” (a brutal reference to the 
thinness of John’s legs); “but the fellows won’t 
stop at that. They have come to saluting me on 
occasion with cat-calls, and besides, whenever I 
happen to be going up-stairs with the crowd 
I really am kept guessing all the time as to 
what is going to happen to me next. Just look at 
this—” 

Here John rolled up his shirt sleeve, revealing a 
forearm of many colors. Fred whistled softly, and 
a great heavy line cleft his forehead perpendicu- 
larly. 

“Just tell me who did that!” he roared, in a tone 
which decidedly startled his companion. 

“Why, Fred! There’s a tiger in you, whereas 
I thought you were a lamb of purest wool serene. 
Indeed, if I did know, I should certainly not tell 
you in your present state of mind. Do you know, 
Fred, just now you have the expression of a bull- 
dog on your face ?” 

Suddenly the heavy line disappeared, the stern 
features relaxed, and Fred broke out into a ring- 
ing, whole-souled laugh. It was a laugh in a mil- 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


93 


lion. People who heard it never forgot it. There 
was no mistaking it. Behind such a laugh there 
could be no treachery, no insincerity; behind such 
a laugh there must be a heart noble, tender, true. 

Ha! ha! ha! roared Fred. “Did I scare you, 
John? You never saw me that way before, hey? 
Well, I hope you’ll never see me that way again. 
And did I look like a bulldog — now — did I ?” 

“You did for all the world, Fred.” 

Again came the ringing laugh. Fred seemed 
to be restored to perfect good humor; and his 
countenance was now lighted up by the merry sun- 
shine of a merry disposition. As John gazed into 
his eyes, he began to wonder whether it was possi- 
ble that the face now before him could be the face 
which, but a moment ago, had been so black with 
passion. The two expressions which had suc- 
ceeded each other so rapidly were at extremes, as 
far removed from each other as is the roar of the 
thunder from the song of the lark. 

Suddenly Fred’s expression changed again. He 
remembered the discouragement and the trouble 
of his friend, and with that memory returned the 
look of sympathy. 

“But, John,” he continued, “I had no idea that 
the fellows were so rough with you. Do you mean 
to tell me that those marks on your arms were put 
there by some of the fellows?” 


94 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


“They are not only on my arm; I’m black and 
blue all over from the pinches and pokes I’ve got 
going up that stairway. Of course, I don’t think 
that many fellows have anything to do with it. 
It’s all done by the crowd that has been after me 
ever since I got here. But the worst of it is that 
the crowd seems to be getting bigger all the time. 
A great many fellows who let me alone at first are 
now beginning to pick at me too. They seem 
to have no respect for me at all. If I were a nig- 
ger in the days of slavery, they could hardly treat 
me worse than they do. Pinches and hits in the 
dark are bad enough; but what I find worst of all 
is the cold contempt I am treated with by all ex- 
cept a very, very few.” 

“And it’s all my fault,” groaned big, burly Fred 
with a face of tragic gloom. As he spoke he struck 
his breast a resounding thwack. “It’s all my 
doing; I brought you here, old boy, and thought 
I was doing you a favor.” 

He groaned again. The earnestness and inten- 
sity of his distress saved it from being serio-comic. 

“Now, look here, Fred,” cried John, catching the 
clenched hand of his friend, and seating himself 
beside him, “don’t you make me feel any worse 
than I do. Don’t, please don’t put the blame on 
yourself. You meant to be kind, and you were 
kind when you persuaded me to come here. If 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


95 


the fellows of Maryville College don’t take to me 
kindly, it’s no fault of yours. You’ve been disap- 
pointed: your swan has turned out to be a goose 
— that’s all.” 

“Goose, indeed,” returned Fred. “I only wish I 
was the kind of a goose you are. Confound it! 
I thought I could twist the boys here around my 
finger; but I’ve missed it on this play. Of course 
they are all careful enough in what they say about 
you when I’m around; but when I’m out of sight, 
I’m out of mind, too. If they only knew you the 
way I do, John, you’d be the cock of the walk. 
But there’s just where the trouble comes in. 
When you’re with me, you’re a different fellow. 
You talk like a book by the best author, and 
you’re easy and graceful, and everything good. 
But when you get into a crowd you’re turned into 
somebody else, who is left-handed and left-legged, 
and deaf and blind and dumb.” 

“That is so, Fred,” assented John. “I wish I 
could help it, but I can’t. When I get into a 
crowd of boys, all my self-assurance and courage 
seem to go oozing out at my finger-tips. You see, 
I’m not used to associating with boys; and, to tell 
the truth, I’m afraid of them. If they were grown 
men, I shouldn’t mind: I’ve gone with grown 
men and women nearly all my life. And even if 
they were boys like you, I should be at my ease. 


9 6 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


But — ” here poor John broke into a weak smile — 
“there’s only one King of the College.” 

“Yes, and he ought to be down and out, and 
there ought to be another in his place; and that 
other should be yourself. This King,” pursued 
Fred grimly, “is a King without a head and without 
authority. King be hanged! I’d give up the title, 
and football and my baseball, and the whole ath- 
letic business, if I could only get the fellows to see 
you as you really are. I don’t wonder you’re dis- 
couraged and homesick, John; I’m that way my- 
self.” 

“Well, to return to the point, Fred: there’s no 
use in my getting any more unhappiness in my 
life than there’s a good and sufficient reason for. 
Now here, and in the present circumstances, I can- 
not be happy. Why, I can’t even study. If there 
were a prospect of any break in the clouds, I might 
go on grinning and bearing it. But there’s noth- 
ing of the kind to look forward to, so far as I can 
see. Under the circumstances it seems to me that 
it would not be an act of cowardice on my part to 
go home. If I saw any good to come from my 
sticking it out, it would be a weakness on my part 
to run away; but what have I to gain by staying? 
I have not the same opportunities for the getting 
of books here as I had at home, and as for studies, 
they are out of the question in the present frame 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


97 


of my mind. And so the misery of each day will 
go for nothing. There’s only one reason in the 
world in favor of my staying, and that reason is 
yourself: you are the best friend I have, and it has 
been on your account alone that I have hesitated 
at all about going.” 

As the King of the College listened to these 
words there came a suspicious moisture to his eyes. 

“Don’t,” he cried; “it hurts. What are you talk- 
ing about anyhow?” he added in tones which under 
their roughness ill concealed his warmth of feel- 
ing. “Instead of saying that I have been your 
friend, you should say that you have been mine. 
You have done a thousand times more for me than 
I can ever hope to do for you. O Jerusalem! I’d 
like to break something.” 

As he gave utterance to this strong burst of 
emotion, Fred jumped to his feet, and brought 
down his clenched fist upon the back of the bench. 
Under the blow the board was split halfway across. 
To this day the boys of Maryville College point 
it out to the wondering newcomer. 

John Rolfs gave a gasp of pain as he saw the 
blood upon Fred’s knuckles. 

“Don’t mind, John,” said Fred, again breaking 
into his jolly laugh; “I feel a hundred per cent, 
better. A regular old knockout blow, wasn’t it?” 
he continued gayly, as he wrapped the injured 


9 8 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


member in his handkerchief. “Whenever I get 
mad I like to hit something. Say, old boy, I don’t 
see my way just yet; but suppose you wait three 
days longer. Do it for the sake of old times. Per- 
haps something may happen to smash that cloud 
you spoke of, and let the sun out. Will you do it?” 

“Of course, Fred, if you ask me to. I will do 
anything you ask. At the same time I want you 
to understand that I am very anxious to get away, 
but still I will stay until you are just as satisfied as 
I am that I ought to go.” 

“If there is no prospect of a change in the next 
three days, I’ll tell you to go, John, and help you 
to get away. Pshaw! If I thought giving a dozen 
or so of the boys a thrashing would do any good, 
I think I’d give it with a heavy hand, although I 
haven’t had a fight since I was ten years old. I’m 
beginning to feel savage. Did you ever feel like 
breaking everything in sight? It seems to me just 
now that it would do me good to run up against 
an engine. It would spoil me, I reckon; but I 
would feel that I was getting what I wanted. Oh, 
there goes the bell for supper. Well, it’s a go, is 
it? You stay three days more. I wish I had your 
brains so as to get up an idea. Say, old chap, just 
say a prayer for me to get one.” 

“All right, Fred,” answered John, with some- 
thing like a laugh. “You’ve taken the blues out of 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


99 


me to such an extent that I don't think they’ll 
come back till to-morrow. And I’m ever so grate- 
ful to you for your sympathy. It’s worth suffering 
a lot to have a friend as true and as good as you.” 


CHAPTER II. 

IN WHICH THE KING OF THE COLLEGE GETS AN IDEA , 

AND ASTONISHES THE YARD IN WASH ROOM ASSEM- 
BLED BY PROMISING THEM AN EXHIBITION 
OF FOOTBALL PLAYING FROM NONE 
OTHER THAN JOHN ROLFS. 

Fred Williams, having eaten what was for him 
a very light supper, sought the solitude to be found 
at that time at the lower end of the yard. With 
lowered eyes and wrinkled brows he stalked up 
and down beside the fence which marked the 
“bounds;” and as he thus paced, a memorable day 
of the last summer came back vividly. 

Here is the memory: Plaving spent himself and 
an ineffectual hour of July at mathematics (in the 
which he had failed at Maryville), he took the Jef- 
ferson Avenue car, and got off at the bridge con- 
necting his native city of Detroit with Belle Isle. 
On reaching that best of pleasure grounds, he 
hired a row-boat, and was soon upon the broad 
bosom of the Detroit River. He was rowing tran- 


TOO 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


quilly along the western shore of the island when 
he suddenly noticed that the clouds had grown 
heavier and blacker and were advancing swiftly. 
Evidently a storm was imminent. With the clouds 
came a gust of wind which dotted the watery ex- 
panse with a myriad of whitecaps. 

He was about to turn back when his attention 
was arrested by the strange movements of a soli- 
tary oarsman who was seated in a boat close to the 
shore of the island and abreast of a mass of logs, 
the tops of which rose above the surface of the 
water. The occupant of this boat was pulling 
frantically at the oars, to which it answered by 
turning round and round as though it were fixed 
upon a pivot. 

“It’s a boy; and I guess he’s caught on one of 
those logs that are just covered by the water,” 
soliloquized Fred; “and judging by the way he’s 
handling his oars he’ll stay where he is for a week.” 

A sudden and sharp clap of thunder tore the air 
at this moment, and with the sound the rain came 
down in torrents. Whether it was the rainfall or 
the roar of the thunder or a combination of the 
two, no one can say; whatever it was, the fright- 
ened oarsman missed the water with one oar, 
struck it deeply with the other, and as the boat 
lunged violently to one side over he went into the 


river. 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


IOI 


Fred, who had already directed his boat towards 
the young man, at once put all his strength into 
his strokes. He was within hailing distance when 
the unfortunate youth came to the surface. 

“Hold on till I get to you/’ he shouted. 

The stranger apparently did not know how to 
swim; but instinctively he clung to the gunwale of 
his boat, which was the very best thing he could 
have done under the circumstances. Here reason 
should have stepped in to help out instinct. But 
it did not. He next made a violent endeavor to 
raise himself out of the water by the leverage of 
the gunwale, which was the worst thing he could 
have done. As Fred with giant strokes reached 
the scene of these mishaps, there was a boat float- 
ing upside down, and its occupant was again be- 
low the surface. 

“Ah!” he cried, as the face reappeared close to 
the stern of his boat. “You’re all right, old man; 
catch hold there.” 

There was something in the tone of Fred’s voice 
which was at once authoritative and reassuring. 
He was a leader of leaders. 

“Good,” he continued, as the half-drowned 
youth obeyed his directions. “There’s no reason 
for being frightened. Stay quiet one moment 
longer. Now — gently. There you are.” 

As he thus spoke Fred, by the exercise of no 


102 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


common skill and of no common strength, helped 
the other into the boat. 

All this time the rain had been falling fast and 
furious; and so there was very little difference as 
regarded the outward plight of the two. Not 
even an expert could have told which of them had 
been immersed. 

“Do you feel all right ?” continued Fred, as he 
helped his new acquaintance to a seat in the stern. 

There came no answer. The young man was 
sputtering and coughing and blowing. He tried 
to smile, but with very doubtful success. 

Fred’s sympathy mounted. He wished to do 
something to show it. 

“Say,”, he continued, “couldn’t I lend you some 
of my clothes? Yours are pretty wet.” 

The rain at this very moment was pelting upon 
the two occupants of the boat more mercilessly 
than ever. Neither of them could possibly present 
a more bedraggled appearance. In answer to 
Fred’s proffer of relief, the other broke into a 
laugh, which, happening to run counter to a choke, 
ended in a violent fit of coughing. 

As the absurdity of the thing dawned upon 
Fred he contributed to the sudden merriment by 
the ringing laugh which his friends loved so well. 

“Excuse me,” said the stranger, when he had 
sufficiently recovered himself, “but I couldn’t 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


103 


help it. I’m awfully grateful to you for what you 
have done for me, and I hope I shall never forget 
it. My name is John Rolfs.” 

“And mine is Fred Williams. As for what I 
did for you, it was only my luck that I got the 
chance. When I was a little fellow I used to read 
those books of Optic and Castlemon. The fellows 
in them were always saving somebody or other’s 
life. They just didn’t seem to have anything else to 
do but to be on hand when anybody needed saving. 
I used to envy them, and wish I’d been alive when 
people were always in danger. And now it’s come 
just my way, and I’m ever so much obliged to you 
for giving me the chance.” 

Rolfs laughed: the laugh was chastened by a 
shiver. 

“What about that boat of mine?” he asked. 

“Oh, bother the old tub. We’ll tell the boatman 
where to find it and go off and warm ourselves. I 
can hear you shivering from here. Don’t 
you worry about it. I know the fellow who has 
charge of the boats, and will make it all right with 
him.” 

“Thanks, Fred; I feel as though you and I were 
old friends.” 

“Suppose,” said Fred, “that we take it for 
granted that we’ve known each other for the last 
three weeks. Let’s suppose that we’ve been to- 


io4 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


gether camping out, and that we’re on the return 
home.” 

“All right,” answered John, at once pleased and 
surprised. 

“Very well,” continued Fred. “By the way, 
you have never told me all these weeks we’ve been 
together in what part of Detroit you live.” 

“Do you know where the Catholic graveyard is, 
Fred?” 

“Oh, indeed! So you live there, do you? What 
kind of a monument is it?” 

“I didn’t say I lived in the graveyard, but near 
it. Almost directly across the street from the 
main entrance.” 

“Well, we’re nearer your house than mine. I 
live on Jefferson Avenue within a block or so of 
Delta College. Now, old fellow, as your house is 
the nearest, I intend to see you there.” 

“I should be delighted to have you; of course 
you’ll have to change your things and take supper 
with me. Say, couldn’t you stay all night?” 

“Considering that we’ve been camping together 
for three weeks, I think we’ve been spending our 
nights in one another’s company to an extent that 
is almost monotonous. There you are shivering 
again. Suppose you sit here beside me and take 
one of the oars; it will keep you from getting a 
chill.” 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


io 5 

The suggested change was made, and five min- 
utes later the two were walking at a noticeably 
fast gait across the Belle Isle Bridge. 

John Rolfs played the part of host to perfection. 
Before supper was over there was no need of keep- 
ing up the illusion that they had been off camp- 
ing together; they were firm and fast friends. In 
the course of their talk it came out that Fred 
knew nothing of mathematics, and that John 
knew very much. This served to clinch their 
friendship. Every day they came together, the 
one as teacher, the other as pupil, with such re- 
sults that when Fred returned to college he passed 
a brilliant examination. 

All these happenings of the previous vacation 
returned to Fred’s memory as he paced up and 
down the beaten path; all these and more. His 
own kindness to Rolfs, however, served only as a 
background to emphasize all that Rolfs had done 
for him. The hours given to making clear the 
problems which had once seemed hopelessly in- 
soluble to Fred, the kindly words of encourage- 
ment, the stimulus of a sympathetic friend — these 
reflections filled the heart of the generous young 
giant with love and gratitude. But what was to 
be done? There came no answer to this question. 

Finally Fred seated himself and fell into what is 
called a brown study. The days were still long, 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


106 

and so the yard, at the further end especially, was 
plentifully peopled with the senior students. 
Many were passing baseballs, a large number were 
taking their turn at catching and fielding the flies 
and grounders which the prefect, a most skilful 
hand at the bat, was knocking for their benefit. 
Knots of boys were gathered in various quarters 
of the yard, one group making a distinctly 
unsuccessful attempt to sing “After the Ball” 
in parts. 

All these sights, along with the various sounds, 
fell idly upon the senses of Fred. But his atten- 
tion was finally aroused when there came forth 
from the gymnasium some fourteen or fifteen 
young men arrayed in the ungainly football suit. 
The college team’s first practice of the year was 
about to begin. 

“Say, Fred,” called out Somers, the newly 
elected captain of the team, “come on and join us, 
won’t you?” 

Fred smiled and shook his head. 

“Come on, Fred,” called a dozen voices. 

“You can count on me for the class games, boys, 
but I can’t afford to go on the regular team.” 

Captain Somers was not satisfied. 

“Look here, Fred,” he began, as he threw him- 
self beside the King of the College, “can’t I induce 
you to change your mind? We’ve got the best 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


107 


team on record in the history of this college; but 
if you promise to play with us, we’ll be simply in- 
vincible. Can’t you promise to come into it for 
the sake of old friendship?” 

“If it were a matter of good will simply, Somers, 
you wouldn’t have to ask me twice. But I have a 
reason which I have told no one — at least no boy. 
If I were to tell any one, it would be you. Of 
course I like football well enough; fact is, I like it 
too well. Why, I’m just wild to play; but I won’t, 
and I can’t, and there’s an end of it, old fellow.” 

“But don’t you remember last year, Fred, when 
we tried to get you to come in with us how you 
gave us a sort of promise that you might help us 
out this year?” 

“Yes, I do. But things have not turned out as 
I hoped, and I have no more right to play now 
than I had then.” 

“Now, Fred, please don’t be offended; if there’s 
any difficulty about money, you know there’s any 
number of us fellows who would be only too glad 
to help you out to any — ” 

“Ha! ha! ha!” roared Fred. “It isn’t a question 
of money; but I’ll tell you in a general sort of a 
way what it is.” 

“What?” cried the captain breathlessly. 

“It’s a most solemn mystery,” answered the 
King, again exploding with laughter. 


io8 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


“Well, come on with me anyhow, and help me 
give some of our new players some pointers.” 

Still bubbling over with laughter Fred arose and 
accompanied Somers to the scene of practice. 

Fred took no part in the various manoeuvres, 
but contented himself with throwing out now a 
hint, now a word of encouragement. Most of the 
players acquitted themselves in this, the first prac- 
tice of the year, very creditably. A few showed 
signs of nervousness; only one gave promise of be- 
ing an utter failure. He was practising for the po- 
sition of left half-back. He had been the best 
player of the junior division in the preceding year, 
and great hopes had been placed upon the help 
which he would afford in filling the position to 
which he had been assigned. Although very light, 
he more than compensated for this “football” de- 
fect by his speed and his activitv. 

Now that he was on trial he fully realized all ex- 
pectations as regarded his ability in the way of 
running around the ends. But in bucking the line 
he was disappointing. He ran forward quickly 
and dashingly it is true, but all his dash and push 
and vim seemed to fail him at the very moment 
when it should be most employed, to wit, at the 
moment of collision. The captain tried him at 
various parts of the line, but when it came to mak- 
ing a gain all the opposing forwards seemed to be 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


109 

the same to the new member of the eleven. In 
vain did Fred urge him on, in vain did he pour 
suggestions into his ear. Failure continued to fol- 
low failure, and the young player began to show 
by his features that he was losing heart. 

Fred was distressed. He could not see another’s 
pain unmoved. 

“You’re all right, Joe Kelly,” he said, “only 
you’ve missed the hang of the thing. But I think 
you and I together can get it,” he added as he 
pulled off his coat. “Now, if you fellows have no 
objection I’ll guard Joe in the next play, and Jones 
can go back on the line. I just want to get Kelly 
into the trick of putting in the full force of his 
dash just when he hits the line.” 

Jones went to the left end, and Fred took his 
place beside Kelly. 

“You’re just a little nervous, Joe,” whispered 
Fred. “All you need to do this time is to put 
down your head and keep right on.” 

Fred’s order was obeyed. Joe, in lowering his 
head, missed a sight that, had he seen it, might 
have haunted him in his sleep for a week to come. 
As Fred advanced his features took on the “bull- 
dog” look. The guard and tackle towards whom 
he was fiercely moving looked as though they 
wished it were supper time and all were well. 
This look, however, did not have a chance to 


I IO 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


settle upon their faces, for they went over like so 
many ten-pins the next instant, and Joe Kelly 
was ten feet beyond the point where he had hit 
the line. 

A chorus of approbation came from players and 
onlookers. Kelly was again a prime favorite. 
Fred smiled. 

“It is not always the fellow who carries the hall 
that does the work ,” he said to himself; “but all the 
same he's the fellow who gets the praise” 

There’s a very good allegory in this thought. 

When Fred, some minutes later, resumed his 
coat, he walked away with the assurance that Kelly 
had gained the requisite confidence and the knack 
of “hitting the line.” The short practice had 
played havoc with his collar, and he repaired to 
the wash-room to remedy this defect in his even- 
ing toilet. The first bell for evening studies had 
just sounded, and a number of students were 
gathered in the room. 

Among them was John Rolfs. 

“Halloa, John,” cried Fred in a loud and cheer- 
ful voice. But even as he spoke he noticed that 
there was a strange expression on his friend’s face. 
With an air of concern and in a lower voice he 
added: “What’s the matter? Anything gone 
wrong ?” 

“Oh, it’s the old story,” came the answer. “I’ll 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


hi 


tell you about it some other time.” And John left 
the wash-room. 

Several of the boys acknowledged his departure 
with cat-calls and other more or less articulate ex- 
pressions of their derision and contempt. 

Again the “bulldog” expression came upon the 
face of the King of the College. Those who per- 
ceived it were quick to take the hint, and to con- 
vey by pokes and gestures a warning to their 
fellows. 

“What’s the matter now?” asked Fred of Mar- 
tin Fay, one of his classmates. 

“They’ve been working old Rolfs again,” an- 
swered Martin. “They made him wash under 
difficulties. There was a good deal of soap in his 
hair-brush, and when he tried to get some water 
it turned out that his wash-basin was a sieve.” 

“It’s too bad,” commented Fred. “Why don’t 
you fellows give the boy a chance? You’re all 
down on him.” 

“Well, it’s a case of mutual want of admiration,” 
explained Martin. “You see, Fred, he doesn’t like 
us and we don’t like him. He is always going 
about with his nose in the air, and he doesn’t take 
the least interest in games. Of course we don’t 
expect him to do anything himself, but at least 
he might show that he doesn’t look down on us.” 

“That’s all tommyrot,” retorted Fred. “How 


I I 2 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


can you expect a fellow to take interest in any- 
thing if you keep him on the ragged edge all the 
time? And suppose a boy doesn’t take interest in 
games, and doesn’t choose to play them, what 
business is it of yours? If John Rolfs wanted to 
play he could give you fellows a few pointers.” 

This was a hard saying even though it came from 
the King of the College. The laugh of incredulity 
was heard from every quarter of the wash-room. 

The King glared about indignantly. He was 
not thinking of himself, but of his friend. As he 
gazed there came to him an inspiration: 

“You think I’m talking nonsense, do you? Just 
wait till we Rhetoricians play the picked football 
team of the Poetry and Humanity classes. Then 
you’ll see something that will make you open your 
eyes.” 

“Is Rolfs going to play with your class?” asked 
one of the Poets, while the others fastened their in- 
quiring eyes upon Fred. 

“Yes, he is, and he’s going to play right half- 
back.” 

There was a titter which was barely respectful. 

“Oh, of course,” growled the King, “there’s no 
chance of his getting any justice from you fellows. 
But just wait till you see him on the gridiron and 
you’ll change your opinion in a hurry.” 

“Do you mean to say, Fred, that Rolfs can play 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. , j 3 

football?” asked Burke, the best player of the Hu- 
manities class. 

“If he wants to, he can play anything,” returned 
Fred. “That boy has brains, and brains are the 
best thing in the market. Some of you fellows 
will open your eyes before the end of that game.” 

The listeners were impressed. Anything from 
the King on the question of athletics weighed 
much with them. There was a moment of silence. 

“All the same,” objected Martin, “it’s pretty 
hard to imagine that a boy who has bad eyes and 
stooped shoulders and a poor physique is able, 
even with the best will in the world, to play a de- 
cent game of football.” 

“You don’t need to imagine anything about it. 
Just wait till the time comes and see for your- 
selves.” And with this the King of the College 
left the wash-room. 

He had produced a sensation. 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


114 


CHAPTER III. 

IN WHICH THE KING OF THE COLLEGE INDUCES ROLFS 
TO FLAY RIGHT HALF-BACK. 

“John, I believe that you trust me.” 

“Why, of course I do, Fred,” replied Rolfs, tak- 
ing out his pocketbook. “Anything that’s mine 
is yours. If you want — ” 

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, old boy,” 
laughed Fred. “I am talking about your trusting 
my judgment.” 

“Whatever you say goes,” laughed John. 

“Do you mean it?” asked Fred eagerly. 

“I mean it without any reservation.” 

“Then listen. I thought the thing over last 
night, and I see my way clear. You are to stay 
here till this day two weeks, the day of the class 
game between our class of Rhetoric and the com- 
bined talent of the Poetry and Humanity classes.” 

“Very well, Fred. As I remarked just now, 
whatever you say goes.” 

“But that’s not all,” continued Fred, now show- 
ing signs oT nervousness. “You are not only to 
stay till then, but you are to take part in the 
game.” 

It was now John’s turn to laugh. 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


ii5 

“Oh, but I mean it/’ continued Fred. “You are 
going to play half-back.” 

“Eh?” gasped John, taking off his glasses and 
looking at his friend with rounded eyes. 

“I was never more serious in my life.” 

“But, my dear sir, I know as much about foot- 
ball as I do about Syro-Chaldaic.” 

“Yes; but I know pretty much all about football, 
and I am with you.” 

“Nonsense. You don’t want me to make a show 
of myself before the whole college.” 

“But you are not going to make a show of your- 
self.” 

“It’s out of the question, Fred. You might as 
well ask me to set the river on fire.” 

“Didn’t you say a minute ago that you trusted 
my judgment without reservation?” 

“I did then; but I never dreamed that you would 
think of my trying to play football.” 

“Now listen, John. The fellows here have an 
idea that you are no good at games.” 

“And they are perfectly correct in that same 
idea,” interpolated Rolfs blandly. 

“And what’s more, they think you have a con- 
tempt for games, and even for those who excel in 
them.” 

“Which isn’t at all so. I envy those fellows who 
are so active on their feet. As to taking interest 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


1 16 

in the games, the fact is I am too ignorant of the 
fine points to say much.” 

‘‘Well, here you have a chance to kill two birds 
with one pebble. If you go into this game you 
will show that you do not despise those who play, 
and, if things work the way I intend them, you will 
show that you are a good player.” 

Rolfs put on the face of utter astonishment. 

“There’s no use in reasoning about this matter,” 
continued Fred; “the only question is, will you put 
yourself in my hands without reserve?” 

Still John Rolfs hesitated. 

“I have asked people a good many favors in my 
life, but I never asked one with so much anxiety to 
be heard as this. John, old fellow, you know that 
I’m your friend, and you know that I wouldn’t do 
anything to make you unhappy. Now I’ve got 
something that I don’t get any too often: I’ve 
got a real live genuine idea, and I’m just dying 
to work it. If you trust me I’m sure that it will 
come out all right. Last night I lay awake in bed 
for three hours thinking it out. To-day I intend 
to keep on thinking at it, because I haven’t got all 
the details pat yet. But it’s sure, almost, to be a 
success. The one thing needful is that you put 
your trust in me, and no matter how foolish I may 
seem to be, no matter what I do, you must take it 
for granted that I know what I’m doing. You 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. n 7 

may think that I’m awful cheeky. It is pretty bold 
to ask a fellow to stop reasoning and let a dunce 
do all the thinking. But that’s just exactly what I 
ask, and I ask it because I see my way to scoring 
a big success for you. Now, once for all, won’t you 
please trust me?” 

Instead of answering Rolfs held out his hand. 

Fred shook it with a cordiality which caused the 
other to wince. The compact was sealed. 

“By George,” roared Fred in a perfect explosion 
of voice, “you’d be astonished if you knew how 
proud I am. To have a fellow like you trust a 
good-for-nothing sort of a chump like me is just 
— is just — hush!” 

The two separated in the happiest of moods: 
Fred because he was so trusted, John because he 
was so dear to the heart of the noblest boy he had 
ever met. 

Fred was wont to strike while the iron was hot. 
Entering the college reading-room he seated him- 
self beside Somers and entered into whispered con- 
versation with him. 

“Say, Somers, I want you to do me a great 
favor.” 

“I think you can count on me,” answered the 
football captain quietly. “What is it, Fred?” 

“First of all, it’s to be a dead secret between you 
and me.” 


1 1 8 THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 

“Why, this is getting interesting. Do you want 
me to swear a swear?” 

“Your word is enough. Let me begin at the 
beginning. You remember last evening how Kelly 
was getting discouraged, and how you and I 
took him in hand and braced him on both sides 
and brought him whirling into and through the 
line?” 

“Yes; and I appreciated your kindness in coming 
to the help of the poor fellow. He had practically 
lost courage, and would have resigned from the 
team if you had not taken him in hand at the last 
moment. You had not helped him for more than 
two or three plays when he became a new man. 
You’re the prince of trainers, Fred.” 

“Oh, let that go. The point I want to get at 
is this: The Arst time you and I brought Kelly 
swinging through the line he really deserved no 
credit at all. He carried the ball, and we did the 
rest.” 

“Excuse me, it was you and not I that did the 
rest. When the fellows saw you swinging into 
them they were gone at once; I have seen no player 
yet who smashes into the line as you do.” 

“At all events, the fact of the matter is that in 
a play of that kind it is the fellow with the ball 
who, in nine cases out of ten, gets the credit of the 
play.” 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE . 


119 

“Yes, that’s so. Even men who know the points 
of the game are often deceived. Why, even yes- 
terday afternoon in the play you speak of, Kelly 
got all the credit of that gain, from more than two- 
thirds of the players who were on the spot and 
had every opportunity of seeing exactly what hap- 
pened.” 

“Well, after the practice I got to thinking of 
that little point, and it gave me a light. Why 
couldn’t we bring John Rolfs into a game and give 
him a sort of send-off with the boys?” 

It was now Somers’ turn to stare and gasp. He 
was more astonished than even John Rolfs had 
been. 

“Oh, say; you don’t call that an idea, do you?” 

“The very best I ever got. You and I are to see 
him through, and the others are to know nothing 
about it.” 

“But, my dear fellow, the thing is absurd. We 
might be able to throw dust in the eyes of the 
crowd for one or two plays, but they would see 
through the scheme in less than ten minutes, and 
poor Rolfs would be guyed more after the game 
than he had been before.” 

“There is a difficulty about pulling the thing off, 
I grant,” assented Fred, “but where there’s a will 
there’s a way I don’t see the end of it clearly yet; 
all I ask of you is to help me bring him through 


120 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


the line just once. You do that and I’ll attend to 
the rest.” 

“I’m afraid it won’t work; in fact, I’m sure it will 
be a failure,” said Somers. “Of course, I don’t 
want to make a fool of myself — not to speak of 
making a fool of poor Rolfs.” 

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Somers. If you agree 
to back me up in this thing I’ll promise to play with 
the college team in any one of the outside games 
you may choose.” 

Somers gave a whoop of joy, and was immedi- 
ately fined twenty-five cents by the censor on 
duty in the reading-room and requested to go 
outside. 

“You can make it fifty if you like,” said Somers 
cheerfully. “Good-by; I’m going outside where I 
can yell. Come on, Fred; you’re the best fellow 
I’ve met in a coon’s age. Do I agree?” he con- 
tinued as they issued into the yard; “well, I should 
say so. Just fix up your plans and I’ll back you 
up to the death. Oh, but this is good. When the 
State University team comes along it won’t know 
what’s happened to it. Just think! For the first 
time since you’ve been coming to our college — 
that’s five years, isn’t it? — you are going to take 
part in a game with an outside team! And under 
my captainship, too. Excuse me, Fred, I must run 
off and tell the other fellows.” 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


I 21 


A moment later a loud, cheer came from a dozen 
and odd young men who stood grouped together 
in the shade of the class-room building. The good 
news had been told, and in five minutes the whole 
yard was in a state of jubilation. The King of the 
College meanwhile had sought the solitude of the 
chapel. He was praying earnestly for two things: 
first, that he might see his way clearly to carrying 
out his plan with regard to John; and secondly, 
that his taking part in the game against the Uni- 
versity team might not lead to the one thing which 
he most dreaded. None of the boys who cheered 
and rejoiced had the least idea of the terrible sacri- 
fice which the King of the College had made for 
the sake of his friend. None of them save that 
friend was destined to learn the secret of Fred’s 
repugnance. 


CHAPTER IV. 

A FOOTBALL GAME WITH A FAMOUS RUN. 

It was the day for the much-talked-of game. 

The Poetry-Humanities class had the kick-off. 
The ball was kicked low, and came on a line to- 
wards Fred, who was well down the field. John 
was standing beside him. He had received his in- 
structions previously to the play. 


122 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


“If the ball comes this way,” Fred had told him, 
“leave it to me. The moment I catch it, get hold 
of my arm and run with me. Keep your free arm 
doubled and stiff.” 

John tried to obey, and, as Fred caught the ball 
and slipped it under his arm, he moved up beside 
his friend and was about to take a hold of him 
when he was very suddenly forestalled, for Fred 
caught him and was speeding along at a rate which 
made it very inconvenient for the delicate guard of 
whom he had, as it were, taken possession. 

Burke, one of the most powerful fellows of the 
Humanities class, was the first to meet them. As 
they came within a few feet of him, poor Rolfs was 
shot out from that protecting and powerful arm 
straight and hard into Burke; and as the two, both 
in a state of violent astonishment, proceeded to 
pick themselves up, Fred swept on for a gain 
of fifteen yards more, five of them being made 
in the very teeth of nearly the entire opposing 
team. 

“I say,” cried Burke, “this is the surprise party 
of the season. Where did you get that trick of 
running a fellow down?” 

Rolfs smiled faintly; he was as yet in no condi- 
tion to talk. 

“It was done in the most scientific way imagin- 
able; most fellows when they try that sort of thing 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE . 


123 


make a foul or a failure, but you kept right within 
the letter of the law. I congratulate you.” 

“What in the world is the boy talking about ?” 
queried John to himself. “And what in the world 
did Fred mean by hurling me off in that fashion? 
I fancy I understand now how a cannon ball would 
feel, if it could, when it is shot out of the mouth 
of a cannon.” 

When Rolfs took his place behind the line in 
preparation for the next play several threw him 
smiles and nods of approbation. The crowd of 
college boys in attendance were wondering and 
dubious. They had been venting their jibes and 
boyish sarcasm upon him but a moment before, but 
now they were quiet. 

John could hear his name passing from mouth 
to mouth, but there was a marked change in the 
tone. One small boy with a voice that carried far 
and wide remarked: 

“By George, old Spindle Shanks isn’t such a rot- 
ten player after all!” 

While the team was still lined up Fred whispered 
a word in his friend’s ear: 

“By Jove, John, we’re in luck. I handled you 
pretty roughly, didn’t I? I did it on the spur of 
the moment, and now nearly every fellow here 
thinks that you know something about football. 
I’ll have to handle you roughly again; but remem- 


124 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


ber what I told you last night: no matter what I 
do, you must take it on faith that I am doing the 
right thing.” 

“Whatever you do goes,” answered John. 

“In this next play, John, make a bluff at being 
in it if you can. You needn’t do anything; but 
get into the crowd, or rather behind it, and act 
as though you were pushing.” 

Poor John tried to carry out these simple in- 
structions, but, if the truth must be told, he looked 
so hopelessly lost and out of place that several 
of the spectators who had been watching him 
closely began to ask him whether his mother knew 
he was out, whether he had any idea of which way 
the goal lay, how about trying a game of marbles, 
and the like. 

In the succeeding play the King of the College 
went through the line for a gain of thirteen yards. 
The gain was great, and yet it was done with ease, 
even with grace — a way of performing which one 
neither expects nor desires in the Rugby game. 

“What’s the matter with that big fellow?” asked 
an old and once famous Yale player of a professor. 
“Is he lazy, or what? Why, if he wanted to he’d 
be going yet. If he were to get excited goodness 
knows what would happen. He’s a born football 
player; one can see that in spite of his lackadaisical 
style.” 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


i 2 5 


“I don’t know what’s the matter with Fred to- 
day,” answered the professor. “I never saw him 
play before. He’s a powerful fellow — the King of 
the College, they call him, and, being very tender- 
hearted, it may be that he is trying not to hurt any 
one.” 

“That’s it,” said a small boy, who, having heard 
that the young man in conversation with the pro- 
fessor had once played half-back on the Yale 
eleven, had come up to examine him closely and 
artlessly from head to foot. “The big fellows who 
know all about Fred say that he never does more 
than half try to play. He laughs and jokes, and 
never lets himself loose unless when he’s making a 
run on a clear field.” 

“Indeed!” said the Yale man putting much in- 
terest into his voice. 

“That’s so, sir. They say that if Fred ever lets 
himself loose it will be worth going miles to see.” 

“And I believe they are right; that fellow 
would be an ornament to any team in the country, 
barring none.” 

Meantime Fred and Captain Somers had been 
hurriedly conversing. 

“There are just about thirty yards left, Som- 
ers. Now’s our time. Call the ball out for Rolfs, 
and tell the quarter to be sure not to throw it to 
him, but to place it safe in his hands. For good- 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


1 26 

ness’ sake, Somers, play as you never played in 
your life, and it’s sure to go.” 

Before the signal was given Fred slipped over to 
the spot where John Rolfs was standing and whis- 
pered in his ear: 

“Now, old fellow, all you need to do is to hold 
on tight to the ball and keep on your legs as much 
as you can. Please don’t mind anything I do; you 
will understand everything later. Perhaps it would 
be a good thing if you were to shut your eyes once 
you have started off with the ball.” 

“Very well,” answered John absently. He was 
too nervous to comprehend fully these directions, 
and too excited to notice the strange expression 
of his friend. The King of the College had grown 
deathly pale; anxiety, fear, pity were written in 
large letters upon his expressive face. One would 
think that he was bidding John Rolfs a last and an 
eternal farewell. His set jaws and his compressed 
lips showed, however, that he was fully master of 
himself. 

When Fred, after these whispered conferences, 
fell back into his place a wave of whispered excite- 
ment passed among the spectators. A substitute 
of the Rhetoricians eleven heard the signal and 
translated it. 

“Rolfs is going to carry the ball.” These were 
the magic words that passed from lip to lip. An 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


127 


eager silence settled upon all. Fred had asserted 
many a time in the past week that Rolfs could go 
through the line for a big gain as well as any boy 
in the college. The assertion, it is scarcely neces- 
sary to say, had been invariably received with a 
laugh; but Fred had been so insistent that many 
had come to wonder whether there could possibly 
be some shadow of truth in it. No wonder, then, 
that excitement became tense. Perhaps a great 
sensation was awaiting those present. If so, all 
were on guard to catch and note its every detail. 

The signal was given, and John Rolfs took three 
strides towards the quarter-back who, as he 
turned, dropped the ball safe and secure in his 
hands. 

After that John hardly knew what happened. 
He was conscious of two big strong arms enfold- 
ing him, one arm on either side, in a rib-cracking 
embrace; he was conscious of a massive, passionate 
face belonging to the stronger arm looming over 
him, and he was frightened. Good heavens! could 
that be the face of Fred Williams? The “bulldog” 
expression was there — the bulldog expression with 
an added fierceness, unimaginable unless seen. It 
was an awful face — fierce, brutal, hard, without a 
single redeeming trait. It is with such a face that 
the murderer rushes upon his victim from behind 
and inflicts the deadly blow; with such a face that 


128 THE KING OF THE COLLEGE . 

the terrible deeds of wrong, of bitter cruelty, are 
wrought by men who have steeled their hearts to 
every touch of pity. 

John Rolfs had seen enough; he closed his eyes 
and prayed. 

Meantime the spectators were screaming and 
yelling at the top of their voices. This is what 
they saw: 

John Rolfs took the ball, placed it under his 
arm, and with the King of the College guarding 
him on the right and the captain of the team on 
the left, plunged into the very heart and centre 
of the opposing line. Then that strong line bent 
and wavered and broke. Three players bit the 
dust, and over their prostrate bodies went the 
dauntless trio. The opposing quarter-back met 
them as they passed their prostrate foes, and (how 
it happened no one knew at the time) went flying 
into the air with a motion that jus 4 ^ failed of being 
a complete somersault. Meantime the three 
locked figures swept on. 

And now came the full-back of the Poetry-Hu- 
manities team into the play. He was, with per- 
haps the single exception of Fred, the best tackier 
in the college. Avoiding the two guards, he dashed 
straight at the legs of John Rolfs, and caught 
them securely above the knees. In a trice the four 
were lying a confused mass upon the ground. 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


1 29 

Every one thought that the play was over, and 
the yelling was redoubled. 

Suddenly a silence fell upon all. Some invisible 
force sent the full-back sprawling to one side, and 
the three were up and off again. For the ensuing 
thirty or forty seconds the onlookers lost sight of 
the great trio. Both teams within five yards of the 
goal stood heaped and jammed together — a strug- 
gling, pushing, feverish mass of maddened players. 
Again there was a move onward. One opposing 
player suddenly described a parabolic curve, a sec- 
ond went flying to one side with an impetus that 
sent him flat on the ground, and through the open- 
ing with a yell that sounded like a fierce war-cry 
came Fred, still firmly grasping John Rolfs. The 
captain was not with them any longer. Just now 
he was securely pinned down by two men who were 
firmly convinced that he had the ball under his arm. 
Rolfs was hardly able to stand upon his legs. 
Though the spectators, at least most of them, did 
not notice it, he was practically a dead weight in 
the hands of his guard. Within a yard of the goal 
two men sprang at them. They met and clashed, 
and before any other player could come upon the 
scene, down went all four upon the goal line, and 
the first touch-down of the game had been scored 
within five minutes from the time of calling play. 

“Hurrah for John Rolfs,” cried a powerful voice. 


i3° 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


Cheer upon cheer rent the air. 

And now let us return to the hero of the hour. 
We left him with his eyes closed and advancing, 
for all he knew, to certain destruction. One thing 
he managed to keep in mind as he moved on: that 
was to hold to the ball under any and all circum- 
stances. Presently he felt that he was making a 
stepping-stone of human bodies to advance. Be- 
fore he could feel quite as uncomfortable as he 
ought to in such circumstances he was advanc- 
ing swiftly upon what seemed to be a clear field. 
Suddenly his football nose was digging into the 
ground, and somebody was holding on to his legs 
with a desperate tenacity. He opened his eyes 
and saw the full-back of the opposing team, who 
had just brought him to earth, saw the face — such 
a face! — of Fred, and closed them again. He felt 
that he did not care to see anything more. 

Then there seemed to be an earthquake, with his 
poor legs as the centre of the seismic disturbance 
and presto! he was up again with only one arm to 
help him on. 

“Hold on to the ball, tight,” cried a fierce voice 
in his ear. And Rolfs held on so tenaciously and 
with so absorbing a purpose that he forgot to use 
his legs, and hung almost a dead weight upon the 
King of the College. 

“Move! move!” hissed the same fierce voice. It 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


3 


was hard to believe that such tones could issue 
from the mouth of Fred Williams. 

John essayed to move. For the ensuing minute 
he knew not what happened. People came thump- 
ing against his body; hands grasped his legs and 
slipped away, heavy feet came down upon his toes, 
and meantime, amidst it all, stronger, more power- 
ful, he felt that terrible arm which never for a mo- 
ment loosened its grasp. It pulled and tugged and 
guided and directed. At last, still holding the ball, 
he was again down flat upon the ground, and for 
the first time since he had started forth upon this 
terrible run the strong arm loosened its hold. In- 
stinctively he opened his eyes. Never shall he for- 
get the horror of the sight that greeted him. 
Fred’s face was close to his. His lips were touched 
with foam, his eyes appeared to be bloodshot and 
were blazing with fury. Even as he looked, the 
hand which had so long supported him suddenly 
shot forth straight at his unprotected face. The 
blow fell, and for a second or two John knew no 
more. All this happened at the very moment that 
the goal-line was reached, and so quickly was it 
done that no one save Rolfs himself saw the blow. 

“Time!” yelled Fred. “Rolfs is knocked out.” 

He bent close down to the runner, who lay prone 
and motionless. 

“Are you hurt, old fellow?” he asked. 


132 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


But there was no answer. 

Fred caught him up in his arms. A subdued 
sound of horror went through players and specta- 
tors. Rolfs’ face was covered with blood, and the 
drops, as Fred held him up to their gaze, were fall- 
ing to the ground. 

“One moment, boys,” continued Fred. “I’ll run 
over with him to the infirmary. He’s done his 
share in winning this game. Feel better, old fel- 
low?” he asked as Rolfs opened his eyes. 

Without waiting for an answer he hastened 
away. 

The most sensational football play of the year 
had been made, and John Rolfs was the hero of 
the hour. 


CHAPTER V. 

IN WHICH JOHN ROLFS CHANGES HIS MIND AND REMAINS 
A T COLLEGE. 

“How are you, John?” cried Fred, bursting into 
the infirmary ward. 

“Who won?” exclaimed John. 

Fred broke into his jolly laugh. He stopped 
abruptly when the Brother infirmarian opened the 
door. 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


133 


“Oh, I beg pardon, Brother; I really couldn’t 
help myself. Would you believe it ? John Rolfs 
here is developing into a dead game sport. In- 
stead of telling me how he felt, his first question 
was, ‘Who won?’ Well, the fact is, John, we won 
hands down; score twenty-four to nothing. But 
that’s merely a detail of the game. The great vic- 
tory was yours. YOU won, old boy. You’ve 
beaten the whole college. There’s not a boy here 
who isn’t willing to swear by you.” 

“What did I do anyhow?” 

“Do! You made a run of thirty yards through 
the centre and all the way into goal.” 

“But good heavens, Fred, you know that I had 
nothing to do with that. I was like a baby in your 
arms.” 

“Don’t you believe it. You held to that ball 
as though it were glued to you. And then the 
way you kicked and struggled along surprised 
me.” 

“Did I really?” 

“You certainly did, at least up to within twelve 
or thirteen yards of the goal. Then you were 
winded and dazed. But you did a thousand times 
better than I thought you would.” 

“But, I say, Fred, what did you mean by giving 
me that outrageous thump on the nose? Of course 
T trust you; but isn’t it pretty hard for a fellow to 


134 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


see his friend glaring like a savage into his face 
while he gives him a punch which shows him a mil- 
lion stars?” 

“Your nose does look a little big,” admitted 
Fred with a shade of sorrow in his tones. “That 
blow, John, was the pet part of my little scheme. 
You see, if you were to play through the game 
everybody would find out your weak points. Now 
I felt sure that I could show you off to advantage 
in a single play, and my idea was to put you out 
of the game in a blaze of glory. The nose, while 
it is a tender organ, can stand a good blow, and 
show better for the amount of harm done than any 
organ of the human frame. For the last week I 
have had it in my mind to give you that bang; but 
it was one of the hardest things I ever did. I’ve 
been praying for a week for courage to do it. I 
can’t bear to hit any fellow in cold blood, and the 
idea of striking you made me feel sick. Before we 
began that run through the lines I felt as though 
I were going to faint. In fact, from the time play 
began till I laid you out on the goal-line I spent 
the very worst quarter of an hour I ever had since 
I played my first game of football. That was be- 
fore I came to college. I had a high temper then, 
and in the excitement of a game, I injured a player 
pretty seriously — broke his collar bone. The acci- 
dent frightened me very much. I then made up 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


I 35 


my mind not to take part in any serious contests 
till I was quite sure of my temper.” 

“Oh!” exclaimed John, sitting up in bed; “so 
that’s the reason that the boys can’t induce you to 
take part in any outside contests.” 

“Exactly; I have been afraid all along that my 
temper might get the better of me, and — I’m 
pretty powerful, John — there might be a serious 
accident for which I might be obliged to reproach 
myself all the days of my life. But I’m not afraid 
any more, John; at last I feel pretty sure of my 
temper.” 

“You do! Oh, how I wish you could have seen 
yourself during the run we made together. Such 
a face! Why, it was enough to stop a lightning 
express. Bulldog was no name for it. Honestly, 
you looked for all the world like a midnight assas- 
sin!” 

“Ha! ha! ha! go on,” roared Fred. “That’s 
good! Tell me some more.” 

“One look at your face, Fred, and I was only too 
glad to close my eyes. After passing through a 
cyclone and getting whirled round in a maelstrom 
I opened them again, and saw your face once more. 
I shut them at once, and was more frightened then 
I had been the first time. Then I got into an earth- 
quake, a steamboat explosion, and a railway col- 
lision, and ended up by dropping from a balloon. 


t 3 6 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


I thought it was about time to open my eyes once 
more, and bid farewell to earth. And there you 
were again glaring into my eyes with a look of 
deadly and implacable hate upon your bulldog hor- 
ror of a face. You were breathing like a third- 
class villain in a second-class tragedy. There was 
foam on your lips and blood in your eye. Then 
you raised your clenched fist and made an awful jab 
at my face, and I shut my eyes again. The next 
thing I knew you were holding me in your arms, 
and addressing the mob. Temper! If you call 
that keeping your temper, words have no mean- 
ing/’ 

“If you don’t stop that roaring of yours,” whis- 
pered the Brother infirmarian, again putting in his 
head at the door, “I shall have to order you back 
to your ward, Mr. Williams.’ 

“Beg pardon, Brother; but John was telling me 
how I looked in a football rush and how he felt 
himself while I was helping him to plough up the 
gridiron, and it would take the seriousness out of 
a tombstone to listen to him. But I’ll be quiet if 
you let me stay a few minutes longer.” 

The Brother withdrew smilingly. In his eyes, 
as in the eyes of all the boys, Fred was indeed the 
King of the College. 

“Well, John,” Fred continued. “I wasn’t really 
mad at all during that rush, but I was intensely 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


137 


excited — never was more so in my life. In the 
first place, I had made up my mind that I was go- 
ing to bring you within the goal-line or be carried 
off the field. In the second place, I wanted to 
make my plays in such a way that the people look- 
ing on couldn’t tell exactly how everything hap- 
pened; that was the hardest thing of all, and kept 
my attention on a fearful strain. In the third place, 
I was to give you at the end of it all a crack on the 
nose which was intended to stun you a trifle and 
make you bleed freely. I may play ball for ten 
years more, but I’ll never again exert myself any- 
thing like what I did in that one play. And what’s 
more, John, I wouldn’t do it for any other fellow 
but you.” 

John reached out his hand; for a moment there 
was the silence which is more eloquent than 
speech. 

“All the same, Fred, I’m going to tell the boys, 
if the thing comes up, that the glory of that play 
all belongs to you; surely you don’t want me to 
sail under false colors?” 

John was about to speak when the noise as of 
the moving of many feet was heard without. 

“Is somebody hurt?” asked John anxiously. 
“It sounds as though they were carrying some one 
in.” 

Before more could be said there came a knock, 


138 THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 

or rather a tattoo at the door, and in marched the 
Rhetoric class in a body. 

“We’ve come to see the hero of the hour,” said 
Captain Somers, while his companions struggled 
to shake hands with Rolfs. 

“It’s all a mistake,” protested John as one by 
one they wrung his hand with a warmth that 
caused him to wince. “I had nothing to do with 
it. Somers and Fred here just carried me along, 
and all I had to do was to hold on to the ball.” 

“You’re suffering from an excess of modesty,” 
said Somers. “Of course we did our share, too. 
But the way you ploughed along and held on to 
that ball when a dozen fellows were trying to pull 
you apart was a caution.” 

It was in vain for John to protest. His reputa- 
tion for ball playing was established, and the more 
he decried his share in the play the more did his 
classmates admire him. Even Somers, who was 
Fred’s confederate in the trick, was sincere in his 
expressions of admiration and congratulation. 

As the party was about to take its leave Fred 
made them a little speech. 

“I just want to say one thing, boys,” he began. 
“John Rolfs has played his last game. He’s a 
friend of mine, and I’m going to see to it that he 
doesn’t go on the gridiron any more. He’s natu- 
rally sickly, and isn’t built for so rough a game as 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


139 


football. I got him to appear for this occasion just 
to show you what he could do if he wanted to. 
However, I’m going to take his place myself. 
Hereafter I intend to play with the regular college 
team.” 

Shortly after this announcement the infirmarian 
again entered and ordered the boys outside. 

“Ah,” sighed John Rolfs, “if I only had Fred’s 
heart.” 

“I wish,” cried Fred at almost the same moment, 
as he walked towards the yard in the midst of the 
joyous Rhetoricians, “that I had just a little bit 
of John Rolfs’ head.” 

* * * * * sk 

Three months have passed. There are now two 
kings in the college, and these kings are as one. 
It is a union of head and of heart. Fred’s influence 
is strong as ever; but it is supplemented by the in- 
fluence of John Rolfs. Under the leadership of 
these twain there is a spirit in the college nobler 
than ever prevailed there before. 

John has no longer any thought of going home. 
He is happy in the real sense of the word. True, 
he takes no active part in athletics, but whenever 
there is a game of any kind in progress he is at 
hand as umpire or as referee, and his judgment is 
invariably received with perfect acquiescence. He 
derives, moreover, as much enjoyment from the 


140 


THE KING OF THE COLLEGE. 


successes of Fred upon the gridiron and the dia- 
mond as though they were his own achievements. 

Fred has performed many a feat since the day of 
that memorable game; but there is nothing in his 
college career which gives him more satisfaction 
than his success in dragging John Rolfs over the 
goal and into the lasting esteem of the students 
of Maryville College. 


LOOKING FOR SANTA CLAUS. 


I. 

On Christmas eve towards nightfall, Johnnie 
Graham and his sister Minnie were curled up on 
the floor near the kitchen stove, looking over the 
pictures in an old magazine. Little Minnie was 
explaining the pictures to her brother. The Kan- 
sas wind was howling about the house, and driv- 
ing the snow against the window-panes. Without 
all was darkness, save for the few lights to the west, 
where lay the village of St. Maure’s. At a table 
beside the children Mrs. Graham was washing the 
dishes. 

“Halloa!” cried Johnnie, jumping to his feet. 
“I hear some one a coming.” And he rushed eag- 
erly to the door. 

The sound of feet shuffling through the snow 
was followed by an impatient knock. Johnnie 
threw open the door, and found himself facing a 
man with a telegram in his hand. 

“It’s for your father, and immediate.” And with 
these words the messenger disappeared into the 
darkness. 

“I hope it is not bad news,” said Mrs. Graham 


142 


LOOKING FOR SANTA CLAUS. 


“May I run to the stable, and bring it to papa?” 
cries Johnnie. 

“Yes, dear.” 

“And may I go too, mamma?” asks Minnie. 

Forthwith at the mother’s nod the two go trip- 
ping through the snow, and soon reach the stable, 
a stout structure distant a stone’s throw from the 
house. 

There are four horses in it — one of them, Witch 
Winnie, is the finest horse in the West. Mr. Gra- 
ham is a lover of horses. 

“Papa, here’s a telegram,” cries Johnnie. 

“And it’s marked immediate,” adds Minnie. 

Mr. Graham, who had been fondly stroking his 
favorite racer, hurried from the stall, and tore open 
the enclosure. His face changed as he read these 
words: 

“Topeka, Kansas. 

“Your sister is dying and calls for you — not an 
hour to spare. John Talbot.” 

“Is it something bad, papa?” asks Minnie, catch- 
ing her father’s right hand, while Johnnie, saying 
nothing, but looking no less sympathetic, takes the 
other. 

“Yes, your auntie is very sick, and I have just 
about three-quarters of an hour to get ready and 
take the train. Gome, little ones, we must tell 
mother at once.” 


LOOKING FOR SANTA CLAUS. 


43 


“Surely it never rains but it pours,” exclaimed 
Mrs. Graham on hearing the news. “Yesterday 
poor John was called away to the side of his dying- 
mother in Kansas City.” 

John was their man of all work, a steady, faith- 
ful young fellow, who, after his love for each and 
every one of the Grahams, was devoted heart and 
soul to the horses. 

“I don’t like to leave you alone on any night, 
my dear,” said Mr. Graham, “but especially on 
Christmas night.” 

“But you must go to Annie’s side; and besides 
I’m not afraid. Everything is secure. We’ve 
lived here now for over two years, and nothing has 
gone wrong.” 

“And, papa, if you go, do you think Santa Claus 
will come?” asked Johnnie anxiously. 

“Why, of course. I’ve sent him word that I’ve 
put the Christmas tree in the hay-loft, so that he 
won’t make the mistake of coming to our house. 
To-morrow when you and Minnie wake up you 
may run over to the stable, and you’ll find out that 
Santa Claus can get through the stoutest door in 
Kansas, even though it has the strongest kind of 
a lock.” 

“And, papa,” said Minnie, “what time does 
Santa Claus come?” 


“Oh, about twelve o’clock.” 


44 


LOOKING FOR SANTA CLAUS. 


Half an hour later Mr. Graham was kissing 
them all farewell. 

“Papa, may I keep the key of the stable ?” asked 
Johnnie. 

“Here it is: don’t lose it, my little man.” 

“And may we go over and see Witch Winnie 
just once more to-night, papa?’’ chimed in Minnie. 

“Of course. Well, good-by, dear, and God bless 
you.” 

II. 

Johnnie had been sleeping for some hours in 
his little cot when Minnie tiptoed into the room. 

“Johnnie,” she whispered at his ear. 

The boy turned uneasily. 

“Johnnie,” she whispered again. 

“What’s the matter? Is it Christmas?” 

“O Johnnie,” she continued as the boy sat up 
in bed, “it’s just eleven o’clock.” 

“I want to go to sleep. Go ’way,” said the 
brother, lying down again. 

“But wouldn’t you like to see Santa Claus?” 

“What!” cried the lad, leaping out of his bed. 

“You know, papa said he would come about 
midnight. I haven’t been able to sleep for think- 
ing of it. Let us go over to the stable, and keep 
perfectly quiet, and maybe we shall see him.” 

“We dasn’t go,” said Johnnie. 


LOOKING FOR SANTA CLAUS. 


145 


“Yes, we may go,” answered Minnie. “Don’t 
you remember that I asked papa to go over and 
see Witch Winnie to-night?” 

“That’s so.” 

A few minutes later two little forms glided over 
the snow, unlocked the door, and slipped into the 
stable. 

“Shall we leave the door open for Santa Claus?” 
asked Johnnie. 

“I think not,” Minnie answered. “It might hurt 
his feelings.” 

Johnnie locked the door. 

“O-o-o-oh! It’s dark in here: I’m afraid.” 

“Sh!” cried Minnie. “I have matches, dear, and 
we can light the candles, if we wish. But then 
Santa Claus might see that you and I were watch- 
ing for him, and then maybe he would be dis- 
pleased. Come, let us get in Witch Winnie’s stall, 
and climb into the manger. She’ll be company for 
us.” 

Witch Winnie gave a little neigh of joy when 
she felt the hands of her two dearest little friends 
caressing her. Then there was an unbroken si- 
lence. 

One minute passed — though Johnnie thought it 
an hour — when a stealthy step was heard without. 

“He’s coming!” cried Minnie, breathing quickly. 

The steps ceased at the door: then there came 
a low whistle. 


i 4 6 LOOKING FOR SANTA CLAUS. 

At the sound Witch Winnie gave another neigh 
of joy. 

“Why, even our horse is glad that Santa Claus 
is coming,” whispered Johnnie. 

“Sh!” hissed Minnie. 

For a minute or two there was a fumbling at the 
lock. 

“I think I’ll go and help Santy,” whispered 
Johnnie. “Maybe he’s not used to that kind of a 
lock.” 

He was about to leap from the manger to carry 
out his purpose when the lock turned, the door 
opened, and in the light afforded by a lantern in 
his hand they saw a man standing in the doorway. 

He was wrapped in a heavy coat encrusted with 
snow — and so far resembled the pictures of Santa 
Claus. He wore a beard, too — but it was black. 
There was no pack upon his shoulders, no smile 
on his face. In one hand was a lantern, in the 
other a pistol. He was frowning, too, and did 
not look at all jolly. 

Johnnie’s heart sank. In fact, he began to doubt 
whether it was Santa Claus. 

The man stood still for one moment, and then 
whistled as before. 

Witch Winnie answered by a low, joyful neigh. 

“Ah, there she is,” muttered the man under his 
breath. 


LOOKING FOR SANTA CLAUS. 


147 


Johnnie could stand it no longer. 

“Halloa, Santy Claus!” he cried in nervous 
tones. 

The man gave a start, and then, raising his pis- 
tol at full cock, threw the glare of the lantern full 
upon Witch Winnie and the two little ones. 

It was a pretty picture. The mare standing with 
her superb head turned eagerly towards the new- 
comer, Minnie clasping her on one side, and John- 
nie on the other, both of them looking fearlessly 
at the man with the cocked pistol. 

“Aren’t you Santa Claus?” cried Minnie. 

The stranger lowered his pis.tol, and advanced. 

“Yes, my little ones,” he said, “I am Santa 
Claus.” 

“I knew it!” cried Johnnie. “Even Witch Win- 
nie knows it. See how glad she is to see you! 
Why, she looks at you just the same as she looks 
at papa. Oh, I’m awful glad to see you, Santy. 
But where is your pack?” 

“It’s outside. Do you little ones expect any 
presents?” 

“Of course we do,” answered Minnie. “This 
little boy is Johnnie, and I am Minnie. Papa told 
us you were coming to-night, so we stole over to 
see you come in.” 

“Well, little ones,” said Santa Claus in a rather 
stern voice, “it’s against my rules to allow any. one 


i 4 8 LOOKING FOR SANTA CLAUS. 

to see me at work. Now, if you want to get a lot 
of the very nicest Christmas presents, you must 
make me a promise.” 

“All right, Santy Claus,” cried Johnnie. 

“You must go right back to the house, and go 
to sleep, and not say another word till sunrise to- 
morrow. Now, do you promise?” 

“Cross my heart,” cried the boy. 

“And so shall I promise,” added Minnie, “but 
first, dear Santa Claus, I want you to do me a 
favor. Papa told us that you came in place of the 
Infant Jesus. Is that so?” 

“Y-yes,” said Santa Claus, coughing uneasily, 
and putting away his pistol as though he were 
ashamed of it. 

“Well, we know how much you must love the 
little Infant, and I thought that you would like to 
take a look at the crib which papa fixed up for us. 
There are twenty candles, and the little Infant is 
just lovely. Come on, Santa Claus, here’s my 
hand.” 

Santa Claus shivered as the child put her confid- 
ing hand in his. He was in a great hurry; but a 
little child led him, led him to the other side of 
the stable into a vacant stall. 

Striking a match, Minnie lighted a number of 
colored candles, revealing a beautiful wax figure 
of the Child Jesus lying with folded arms upon a 


LOOKING FOR SANTA CLAUS. 


149 


small square platform hardly more than an inch in 
thickness. 

“Auntie Jane was over in Paris,” explained 
Minnie, “and she bought this for us. Isn’t it 
sweet ?” 

“It is,” said the man, upon whose brow a faint 
moisture had broken out. 

“Now, Santa Claus, I know you want to kneel 
down and pray. Johnnie and I always do.” 

Santa Claus knelt. He bowed his head, and did 
not see what Minnie was doing. Suddenly he gave 
a start, and looking up saw Minnie sinking to her 
knees, while from the little platform which sup- 
ported the figure came a sweet, tinkling Christmas 
melody. It was Adams’ Noel, and he shivered 
again, and the moisture upon his forehead gath- 
ered into beads as he listened to the sweeJtly sad 
strains. 

“Look,” whispered Minnie. 

Suddenly the waxen infant opened its sweet 
blue eyes, while the tiny, sweet, waxen arms un- 
crossed themselves and were extended as though 
they would enfold the whole world in their warm, 
loving embrace. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” whispered Johnnie in a tone 
that was a prayer. 

Then the arms slowly folded again, and the 
sweet blue eyes were again curtained by the lovely 


LOOKING FOR SANTA CLAUS. 


15 ° 

lids. Jesus was asleep. After a moment’s pause 
the tinkle of the Adeste Fideles made the silence 
lovely. 

“Let us sing for Santa Claus,” whispered John- 
nie. 

At the word both broke out into the glad notes 
of the Christmas hymn, and sang with the sweet- 
ness of fresh and touching voices, and in the grand 
manner of a living faith. 

Before they had ended Santa Claus threw his 
pistol before the shrine as an offering: he was done 
with it. 

“Would you like to kiss the Infant ?” asked Min- 
nie. 

“I dare not,” he answered hoarsely. 

There was a faint sound in the distance as of a 
horse galloping at full speed. 

“God bless you — you — you — darlings; God 
bless you, and forgive me.” 

With the last words he was rushing for the door, 
where he disappeared as though he had not been, 
while nearer, louder, clearer came the tramping of 
the horse. 

The children hurried to the door, and looked in 
vain for a sight of Santa Claus. Even as they were 
straining their eyes into the darkness there dashed 
up a horseman upon a foaming charger. 

“Why, it’s papa!” cried Minnie. 


LOOKING FOR SANTA CLAUS. 


* 5 * 

“Merry Christmas, papa, and we’ve seen Santa 
Claus, and he ran away when he heard you com- 
ing.” 

“Is Witch Winnie all right?” cried Mr. Graham, 
jumping from his horse. 

“Sure!” answered Johnnie, and, supplemented 
by Minnie, he proceeded to tell of their night’s ad- 
ventures. Mr. Graham listened with his features 
under a forced restraint. 

“It’s too bad, papa, that you frightened Santy 
away; he didn’t bring one Christmas present yet,” 
said Minnie when Johnnie had concluded his ac- 
count. 

“Yes, he did; come up, my little ones, and see.” 

And they went up and saw. It was the finest 
Christmas tree in Kansas, and every gift that Min- 
nie and Johnnie could desire was there. 

“Now, my little darlings, let us go down to the 
crib, and thank the little Infant.” 

And they went down, and kneeling thanked the 
little Infant — Minnie and Johnnie for their beau- 
tiful Christmas gifts, and their father for the safety 
of Witch Winnie from the clutches of her former 
groom, who had forged two telegrams, who had 
entered the stable as a horse-thief, had remained 
in it as Santa Claus, and left it touched and soft- 
ened and repentant through the sweet visions of 
innocence and love which the Infant Jesus had 
there vouchsafed him. 










ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER; 


OR, 

THE RISE OF JIMMIE GLEASON. 


CHAPTER I. 

IN WHICH JIMMIE IS CONQUERED AND CONQUERS. 

Fountain Square is the heart of Cincinnati. 
Nearly all cars, electric and cable, make this square 
their rendezvous, and, in consequence, the people 
who grace this busy and bright spot with their 
presence are beyond the count of ordinary men. 
Also, it is a good place for the selling of newspa- 
pers. Lucky the boy who is allowed the privilege 
of owning a corner within sight of the beautiful 
fountain. 

Such a lucky boy was Jimmie Gleason, aged 
thirteen, freckled of face, of a sandy head of hair, 
and an inquiring nose. He had a mouth just large 
enough to give one the impression he was good- 
hearted; and when he smiled the smile penetrated 
every feature. 


i53 


1 54 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


Through many trials and tribulations had Jim- 
mie entered into the possession of a corner which 
was actually within a stone’s throw of the fountain. 
Jimmie, it is true, had never launched a stone at 
that famous bit of art. But then, you see, it had 
never occurred to his otherwise active mind so to 
do; and, truth compels me to add, there were cer- 
tain periods in the life of Jimmie when that reckless 
young gentleman would have stopped at nothing. 
The corner which he held in undisputed possession 
was at Fifth and Walnut. “Healey’s,” whither ever 
so many Cincinnatians, and their near neighbors 
from over the river, resort for their favorite maga- 
zines, was his boundary line southward, and the 
middle of the square was the end of his beat in the 
opposite direction. 

I said a moment ago that into the possession of 
this corner Jimmie had entered not without trial 
and tribulation. He had succeeded to it legiti- 
mately. “Mugsy” Mallon had bequeathed it to 
him on his retirement from the newspaper busi- 
ness, to assist with his talent the American 
Messenger Service. The transfer took place on 
the first of September, at eight o’clock in the' 
morning. 

By nine o’clock Jimmie had sold only three pa- 
pers. He had not been idle, however. One black 
eye, a cut lip, and a lump on the forehead showed 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


155 


that, as a matter of fact, he had been quite busy. 
He had enjoyed himself, too; for had he not drunk 
delight of battle? But at nine o’clock, as it hap- 
pened, it was the other fellow who had the fun. 
The “other fellow” was slightly the senior of Jim- 
mie. His life had been a rough one. When he was 
not, to borrow his own phrasing, “punching some- 
body’s head,” he was seriously meditating some 
such step. O11 seeing the new face at the coveted 
corner his heart was filled with joy. Here he could 
kill two birds with one stone; here business jumped 
with his personal inclinations. The policeman had 
scarce fully turned his back when the new face be- 
came a much battered one. Jimmie had the good 
sense to retire. Also, he meditated much. 

A week elapsed before Jimmie, with his full smile 
and his merry eyes, added his quota of happiness 
to the merry-go-round of Fountain Square. He 
appeared without any papers under his arm, which 
was unprofessional. 

“Come for another licking?” asked Scrappy 
Jones, his victor. 

“Licking — nothing!” answered Jimmie cheer- 
fully, but with no particular signs of meekness in 
his voice. 

“Well, get away swift, or you’ll wonder what 
happened to you.” 

“I was just a-goin’ to ask you to get away your 


156 ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER . 

self, Scrappy. These here is my grounds, and I’m 
a-goin’ to have ’em.” 

Scrappy answered by a gesture, and the rest of 
the conference was conducted without the use of 
articulate language. Scrappy’s gesture was a vio- 
lent one. He made it with the right hand. It 
should have reached its full power when it came 
in contact with Jimmie’s nose. But, as it hap- 
pened, Jimmie gesticulated, too. It was the ges- 
ture of despair — the gesture which the heart- 
broken lover makes in the play, when he places his 
forearm before his eyes and abandons himself to 
ihe throes of grief. It is also the gesture which 
the boxer makes as a preventive of grief. 

In less time than it takes to write it Scrappy 
had discovered that the Jimmie of to-day was not 
the Jimmie of yesterday and the day before; and 
Jimmie himself had discovered one of Scrappy’s 
eyes, and also the tenderest part of that pugna- 
cious young gentleman’s nose. 

The last discovery put a stop to further hostili- 
ties. Some of the bystanders, moved by the sight 
of blood, interfered; a friend of Scrappy led him 
away. 

“You’se can keep the corner, Jimmie,” he re- 
marked as he turned the corner, “and you’se de- 
serve it.” 

It was a magnanimous speech; and it so im- 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


57 


pressed the onlookers ol the newsboy fraternity 
who happened to be on the scene that young Mas- 
ter Gleason was left unmolested for a period of 
three days. 

The secret of Jimmie’s success is easily ex- 
plained. After his eviction, you will remember, he 
meditated. The result of these meditations was 
that on the following day he presented himself to 
John Larkin, a young man of twenty-one 
years, who was accounted the best athlete of the 
parish. 

At the moment of the meeting Larkin was 
seated on the stoop of his dwelling reading the 
baseball news in the Post. 

“John, won’t you give me some boxing lessons?” 

“Eh?” said John, putting down the paper and 
looking in surprise at the small boy. 

“I want a sort of a course.” 

“Oh, you do! and may I ask what for?” 

“I want to lick a feller, and I can’t do it unless 
I learn something.” 

“Indeed! And so you think I’m going to train 
you for such a purpose as that! Clear out, young 
man; there are too many fighters in this neighbor- 
hood already.” 

But Jimmie did not “clear out.” lie stood quite 
still, and gazed wistfully into Larkin’s face. 

“What do you want to lick a fellow for?” con- 


1 58 ONE STEF AND THEN ANOTHER. 

tinued Larkin, softening perceptibly under the 
look. 

“It’s this way, John: Mugsy Mallon gave me 
his corner on Fountain Square when he went for 
a messenger boy, and I had it for just about one 
hour. The fellers worried me all the time, but i 
got ahead of them till Scrappy Jones came along, 
and then I had to go. Now, that corner is mine, 
and I’m going to have it back.” 

John Larkin noticed with interest the expression 
of determination on Gleason’s face. He had seen 
the boy many a time before, but he had paid no 
particular attention to him. Although he was not 
aware of it, Larkin was a shrewd reader of char- 
acter. The boy before him, he began to suspect, 
was worth more than a passing notice. Larkin 
reflected. 

“Look here,” he said slowly; “if I thought that 
my teaching you to box would only help to make a 
bully of you, I’d see you hanged before I’d give 
you a single hint.” 

“I’m not a bully,” protested Jimmie. 

Larkin surveyed the lithe, muscular, compact 
figure. Then he spoke: 

“Even so; but suppose you came to be an expert 
boxer, you might be tempted to show off.” 

“That’s so, I might,” admitted Jimmie, reluc- 
tantly. 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


*59 


This admission produced more of an effect on 
Larkin than anything Gleason had thus far said. 

“Well, that’s spoken honestly. A boy who talks 
that way may be believed when he makes a 
promise. Now, young harum-scarum, I’m going 
to teach you all the boxing I know, and in return 
you are going to promise me never to fight except 
in self-defence.” 

“I swear that — ” Jimmie had raised his right 
hand melodramatically, after the manner of his fa- 
vorite stage heroes. 

“Hold on,” interrupted Larkin, “I don’t want 
you to swear; your promise will be enough. What’s 
that sticking out of your pocket?” 

Before the boy could answer Larkin reached out 
a quick and dexterous hand, which returned with a 
package of cigarettes. 

“Oh! You’re beginning early.” 

“All the fellers do it.’ 

“Oh, yes; certainly. But if you want to be a real 
man, and not an imitation of one, you’ll have to 
find out that it is precisely in not doing what all 
the fellows do that is going to make you one. If 
you want to be strong and healthy and energetic 
let the cigarettes go. Suppose, Jimmie, you throw 
in a promise to that effect, too? ’ 

“What! to stop smoking cigarettes for life?” 

“No; till you’re eighteen. When you are tha' 


160 ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 

age you’ll have sense enough to know what’s good 
for you.” 

Jimmie gave the promises, and in return received 
six boxing lessons of an hour each. Larkin, even 
to this day, has not come upon a more promising 
scholar. Jimmie was a better boxer when the 
course finished. Incidentally, too, he received 
some lessons in manliness and honor which were a 
thousand times more valuable. Larkin was more 
than an athlete; he was a young man of high prin- 
ciple. 

When Jimmie left him to resume his business on 
Fountain Square it was with the resolve that he 
would try to live in such a way as to be no discredit 
to his kind professor. 


CHAPTER II. 

IN WHICH JIMMIE MEETS FATHER NELSON, AND GETS A 
NEW IDEA. 

“Post! Times-Star! Here you are. Sevingth 
edishing!” 

Jimmie, who had been vociferating these re- 
marks at a gentleman, suddenly checked himself 
on discovering that the object of his attentions 
was a Catholic priest. 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. ,61 

“Good evnin’, Fadder,” he added in a far milder 
tone of voice, and giving the peak of his cap a 
jerk. 

The priest, in return to his salutation, lifted his 
hat and smiled kindly. 

“Got the baseball supplement?” he asked. 

“No, Fadder; the extry won’t be out till half 
past five; but the score at the end of the eight’ 
innin’ is seven to five in favor of the Cincinnatis.” 

“Thank you, my boy.” 

“If you jest wait a minute, Fadder, I’ll run up 
and get the nint’ innin’ for you.” 

“No, thank you; you’d lose your trade. Here, 
give me a Post, my lad.” 

In return for the paper the priest handed the 
boy five cents, adding: “Never mind the change.” 

Then and there came a sort of revolution in the 
ideals of Master James Gleason. Thus far in his 
brief existence the motorman had been the grand- 
est person in the world. Now the motorman had 
to make room on his lofty pedestal for the priest. 
To think that a man who could talk Latin if he 
felt like it should take off his hat to a bare-legged 
newsboy, inquire about the baseball score, and be- 
stow so large a gift with so genial a smile! Jim- 
mie, who, I am sorry to say, was a Catholic in 
theory rather than in practice, felt for the first 
time in his life that it was a good thing to be a 


162 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER . 


Catholic. A Church that could produce a man like 
that was worth while. 

For the next quarter of an hour young Gleason 
went about his work of selling papers mechanic- 
ally. He was thinking of the priest. 

“Well, Jimmie, what luck?” cried some one, as 
he clapped him on the back. 

Jimmie gave a start, and turning recognized 
John Larkin. 

“Halloa, John; luck! that ain’t no name for it, 
There was a reverend came along — ” 

“A whatf” 

“A reverend, you know.” 

“No, I don’t know. If you mean a priest, say 
so. Don’t talk as if you belonged to the Salvation 
Army.” 

“Nearly all the fellers call them reverend,” ob- 
jected James. 

“The fellows you run with, yes. But no Catho- 
lic boys with any sort of a Catholic training. But 
excuse the interruption; what about the Father 
you met?” 

“Well, do you know, he wanted the baseball 
supplement. Think of a reverend — I mean of a 
Fadder — likin’ the national game.” 

“Didn’t it occur to you, youngster, that perhaps 
he might have been a player himself once upon a 
time?” 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


63 


“Do reverends — that is, do priests play ball?” 

“Not as a profession, my son; but if you ever get 
a chance, you run up some afternoon to the semi- 
nary on Price Hill and watch the seminarians play 
ball. Some of them who will be priests in a year 
or two could give pointers to a great many profes- 
sionals. But is that all?” 

“No — Paper, sir? — Post , Times-Star — all about 
the horriful murder in Buckstown — sevingth edish- 
ing!” 

Jimmie sold a paper and resumed. 

“I was going to say he bought a paper and paid 
me five cents, and, John, when I put me fist to me 
cap he raised his hat as if his hand was a derrick, 
jest the same as the swell fellers raise their hats 
to the lady folks.” 

“Next time you meet him, young man, see if 
you can’t raise your hat to him just as nicely as 
he did to you.” 

“Yes, sir; I’ll raise mine a foot higher. That’s 
the way to learn, ain’t it, John? When you see 
a feller do a thing better than yourself try to catch 
up with him. Eh?” 

For answer Larkin took young Gleason’s hand 
and shook it with no little solemnity. 

^Upon my word, Jimmie, I believe that you are 
going to get on. The fellows who go about with 
their eyes open, and manage to learn from every- 


! 6 4 ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


body, are the ones who promise to rise. Keep 
on that way. Learn from every one; it’s the next 
best thing to a college education.” 

“You’ve learnt me a lot,” said Jimmie. “I wish,” 
he added reflectively, “that I knew the name of 
that priest. I don’t know no priests.” 

“What was he like?” 

“He was a short guy — ” 

“What’s that?” cried Larkin in a warning voice. 

“He was a man not as tall as you, John; but he 
had very broad shoulders and a big chest, and his 
hair was as black as the ace of spades, only a lot 
curlier, and he had a nose which wasn’t very large 
nor yet very small, and that didn’t turn down, but 
rather a little up, which made him look as if he 
wasn’t afraid of anything.” 

John Larkin laughed. 

“Well, Jim,” he began when he had recovered 
himself, “you’re in luck, sure enough. That’s 
Father Nelson. He’s one of the best friends the 
working boys have in this city. He runs a Sodality 
and a club for them, and I’ll bet he has his eye on 
you. Have you ever been to confession?” 

“No; but I think it’s about time for me to go. 
They didn’t teach us nuthin’ about confession at 
the public, and ma is too tired at night after work- 
in’ all day, and I don’t know how it’s done.’ 

“Well, you’d better get ready, my boy. Next 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 165 

thing you know Father Nelson will be after you, 
and he’ll not let you go.” 

“Say, John, couldn’t you give me a few tips?” 

John hesitated. 

“It’s a ticklish business,” he remarked, half to 
himself. “Well, I don’t mind if I do.” 

So the professor of boxing became teacher of 
Christian doctrine. James called every night, and 
when his interest in the Catechism flagged the 
gloves were brought out. John rejoiced in the 
new-born Christianity of his pupil, and was proud 
of his boxing. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE GLEASONS A T HOME. 

Any one who has visited Cincinnati may know 
that there is a number of tenement houses some- 
what east of Fountain Square. In one of these, a 
box-like building, between Walnut Street and 
Broadway, resided the family of the Gleasons. 

The family occupied three small rooms, compris- 
ing a kitchen (which by night was Mrs. Gleason’s 
sleeping room) and two bedrooms. Of these, the 
first was occupied by the daughters, Mary, Ellen, 
and Margaret; the second by Jimmie, Eddie, his 
younger brother, and a cousin, Charlie Earle. 


1 66 ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 

Mrs. Gleason, a widow for more than six years, 
worked out; Mary, a girl of nineteen, stayed home 
as housekeeper; Ellen, the oldest sister, had a po- 
sition in a shoe factory. 

She spent most of her free time in the reading 
of love stories, went to a ball nearly every Satur- 
day night, and rose too late on Sunday to go to 
Mass. 

Margaret, the youngest of the girls, had received 
a fairly good training at the parochial school. She, 
too, had worked for a time in a shoe factory, but 
before the opening of this story had, through an 
injustice, lost her position. 

She went to confession every Saturday, a fact 
which afforded no little amusement to her older 
sisters. 

If poor Margaret frowned or showed the least 
sign of impatience, Ellen, the factory girl, would 
say: 

“Catch on to the saint. If I went to confession 
once a week, Ed like to see myself a losin’ my tem- 
per.” 

Then Margaret would blush to the accompani- 
ment of a general laugh. 

Or, again, if Margaret ventured upon a remon- 
strance against the light, irreverent manner in 
which her sisters sometimes touched upon sacred 
things she was at once silenced. 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


167 


“Pious is as pious does,” Mary, the housekeeper, 
would observe. “When you’re helping to support 
the family, Margaret, you may lay down the law 
to us.” 

“Yes,” the young lady from the factory would 
ad3, “and it’s all very well goin’ to confession every 
week and hangin’ ’round the church, but I should 
like to know how much money that sort of work 
brings in?” 

Such sallies as these appealed powerfully to 
Charlie Earle’s sense of humor. He had a coarse 
laugh. Ellen and Mary in the light of this laugh 
considered themselves quite witty. 

James and Eddie generally sided with Margaret. 

“You let Margaret alone,” James would say. “I 
wish I was as good as her.” 

“Me, too,” assented Eddie. 

Mrs. Gleason took no part in these conversa- 
tions, which were generally held at the frugal sup- 
per board. She rarely returned from her work till 
after nine o’clock at night, and then she was utterly 
worn out. 

It was Margaret’s custom to wait for the poor, 
jaded woman. 

The Gleasons were in the habit of foregathering 
in the kitchen till about half-past eight. Then, in 
a body, they sought their respective bedrooms. 

Since Jimmie’s interview with John Larkin a 


68 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


change had come about in this order. Our little 
newsboy, on returning from his Catechism lesson, 
which he kept secret from the whole family, would, 
under one pretext or another, retire early. 

Gradually the curiosity of Charlie Earle was 
aroused. 

“Say,” he remarked one night, “I wonder what’s 
Jimmie’s little game ?” 

“He must be tired out from selling papers,” sug- 
gested Ellen. 

“Don’t you believe it. I think I’ll go and look. 
Come on, let’s all take a squint. You carry the 
lamp, Mary.” 

Headed by Master Earle, the party proceeded on 
tiptoe to the door of the boy’s room. Earle softly 
threw open the door. 

The sight should have been an impressive one. 
As a matter of fact, it was not. 

Jimmie was kneeling beside the bed. In one 
hand he held a lighted candle-stump, in the other 
an old and tattered book of devotions, and his lips 
were moving in prayer. 

He jumped to his feet, as a scornful laugh told 
him that he was discovered. The blood rushed to 
his face, and he was ashamed. 

“Oh, aren’t we getting pious,” cried out Earle. 

“You’re not in it with Jimmie, Margaret,” 
laughed Mary. 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


1 69 

Even Eddie tittered. 

Shame was fast giving way to anger. Jimmie’s 
case is not the only one on record of a man’s los- 
ing his temper when disturbed at his devotions. 

“Well, what do you people want, anyhow?” he 
said angrily. 

“What’s that you’ve got?” asked Earle, reach- 
ing out for the prayer-book. 

“Don’t you get so gay, Charlie Earle,” cried 
Jimmie angrily. 

“Pious people should keep their tempers,” ob- 
served Charlie mockingly. 

Jimmie, meanwhile, had extinguished the can- 
dle, rendered unnecessary by the light of the lamp 
which Mary was holding aloft, and returned it to 
his pocket. 

“I don’t see why you should be ashamed to 
pray,” said Ellen. 

“Well, I shan’t be ashamed any more,” said Jim- 
mie hotly, “and I’ll see to it, too, that Eddie says 
his night prayers after this.” 

“Good for you, James,” said Margaret. 

“Oh! so you’re going to run things in this room, 
are you ?” Earle observed. 

“Never you mind.” 

“But I bet I will. You’re not Eddie’s boss. 
And I’d like to know where I come in? We’re 
not going to have no Sunday-school here.” 


70 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


When James called Eddie into their room on the 
following night, it was evident to the others that 
he was going to carry out his intentions. Hardly 
had the two begun their prayers when Earle came 
in and began to sing at the top of his voice, 

‘‘Glory, glory, Halleluia, 

Glory, glory, Halleluia, 

Glory, glory, Halleluia, 

As we go marching on.” 

At the same time he marched with a very heavy 
step in time with his own music. 

“I say,” cried Jimmie, jumping up, “you get out 
of here, and mind your own business.” 

Earle gasped. This sounded, indeed, like a dec- 
laration of independence. Earle, as far back as 
his memory went, had been tacitly accepted as 
leader. The time had at length come when he 
must assert himself or lose his control. 

“That’s mighty cool,” he said; “but suppose you 
get out yourself, you impudent little guttersnipe. 
I’ve a mind to thrash you. In fact, that’s just what 
I will do, if you don’t make yourself scarce.” 

“Keep away; don’t touch me,” Jimmie ex- 
claimed. “I. tell you I won’t take any of your fool- 
ing.” 

To these words Earle paid no heed. He ad- 
vanced and tried to catch Jim by the ear. 

When the girls, disturbed by the noise, rushed 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER . 


171 

into the room a moment later, they saw a very 
angry small boy, before whose active fists and blaz- 
ing eyes Earle retreated with more haste than dig- 
nity. 

The quarrel stopped with their entrance. Earle 
consented to retire, which he did with much as- 
tonishment and some bruises upon his yellow face. 

“If you interrupt again you’ll get worse,” bawled 
Jimmie. “Now, Eddie,” he added, “suppose we 
finish our prayers.” 

Piety had made a bloody entrance into the Glea- 
son family. 

One week later Mrs. Gleason happened to come 
home earlier than usual. Earle and Mary and El- 
len had gone out, and Margaret was awaiting her 
at the door. 

“Why, my dear,” Mrs. Gleason exclaimed, “what 
makes you look so joyful?” 

“A lot of things, mamma. But first of all come 
quietly with me; I want you to listen to James and 
Eddie. You’ll be glad when you hear them, 
mamma.” 

Not a little mystified, Mrs. Gleason accompa- 
nied her daughter to the boys’ room. 

Lightly Margaret threw open the door. 

Together, in low, clear tones, the brothers were 
reciting the acts of Faith, Hope, and Love. 

At the end of these prayers they added: 


172 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


“Lord have mercy on papa, and God bless 
mamma.” 

The two boys were startled by a sob. They 
jumped to their feet and gazed upon their mother. 
Her eyes were wet. 

“Tve been a bad mother to you, my boys,” she 
said with difficulty. “And you are such good boys, 
too. It is I that should have taught you to pray.” 

“And you would, too, mamma, if you had time,” 
said James cheerfully. 

“And she’s going to have time from this out, 
James,” cried Margaret, whose face was bright 
with joy. “Mamma, I’ve great news. Do you 
know what I’ve been doing these last two 
months?” 

“I know you were up to something good,” said 
James, confidently. “Go on and tell us.” 

“I’ve been working away learning typewriting 
and stenography; and I’ve learnt it, and my teacher 
says I’m first-class.” 

“Margaret,” said James, “you’re all right, and 
you’ve got more smartness in your little finger 
than all the rest of us put together.” 

“But that’s not the best of it. The best is to 
come. There’s a girl friend of mine who’s going 
away to-morrow to be a nun. She was a stenog- 
rapher, and I’m to get her place to-morrow at 
ten dollars a week.” 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


73 


For a moment the listeners were struck dumb. 

Eddie was the first to recover himself. 

“I say, Margaret, I’ll get those skates at Christ- 
mas, won’t I?” 

“Indeed you shall, Eddie. And now, mamma, 
you’ll promise me, won’t you, please, to take a 
rest? We want you at home, mamma. We all 
need you. And then you have been working so 
hard, and you look so tired and worn. Please, 
mamma, promise me you’ll stop work.” 

“My dear, dear Margaret, it makes me ashamed 
to think how ungrateful I have been to God who 
has given me such good children. My dear, I 
ought to be at home to take care of my little ones, 
and I’m going to begin right now.” 

She kissed the three children affectionately. 

“Now, my dears, I am a little tired, and — and — 
I think I’d like to say a few prayers myself.” 

“I’m going to confession next Saturday, 
mamma,” said James. 

“Well, dear, we shall go together.” 

When Earle and the two sisters returned that 
night and heard all that had taken place, they made 
a few timid remarks, and then fell into a respect- 
ful silence. Within the space of one hour piety 
had risen to a premium in the apartments of the 
Gleasons. 


174 


ONE STEF AND THEN ANOTHER. 


CHAPTER IV. 

IN WHICH JIMMIE GLEASON REPORTS PROGRESS TO 
JOHN LARKIN. 

“Well, how are you getting on these days?” 
Thus did John Larkin greet James Gleason one 
evening late in October. Jimmie, who happened 
to be passing Larkin’s doorstep, seated himself 
beside his friend. 

“Fine; everything is coming our way. I’ve 
joined Father Nelson’s Sodality, and I belong to 
his club, and I go to his night-school, and the 
teacher says I’m learnin’ most astonishin’ fast.” 

“Keep it up, James. I’m rather glad now I gave 
you those boxing lessons.” 

“Yes, sir; so am I,” answered James, with much 
emphasis on the “sir;” “those boxing lessons pre- 
pared me for confession.” 

“I hear from some of the boys that you’re the 
best boxer of your size in Father Nelson’s club.” 

“That’s what they say, John; but the other fel- 
lows didn’t have as good a professor as I had.” 

“How much do you want for that?” asked John, 
putting his thumb and forefinger into his vest 
pocket. 

“I thrun that bouquet for nothing, John. I say, 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


75 


do you remember you telling me .to try and say 
my prayers every night?” 

“Do I? Don’t I remember that you had to 
thrash your cousin? It was the most pious fight 
I ever heard of. Do you keep it up ?” 

“Better than that, John. Now mamma has 
taken charge. We all say prayers every night to- 
gether, and even Charlie Earle joins in occasion- 
ally. Since he saw me boxing one night at the 
club he’s got to respect me a lot; and now I can 
turn him around my little finger.” 

“The trouble with Charlie is, he’s a goose,” said 
Larkin. “If you could manage to get him away 
from the hard crowd he runs with he might be 
quite a different sort of a fellow. Can’t you get 
him into your club?” 

“I think so; but first I’m going to make him go 
to confession. That may mean another fight, 
but—” 

“Oh, I say,” interrupted John, “you seem to 
think that the only way to get on is by the use of 
your fists. I don’t want to hear of any more fight- 
ing, young man. If you are kind and patient 
Charlie will come ’round. Don’t try to rush 
things.” 

“Just as you say, John. The rest of the people 
at home have gone to confession. Margaret’s the 
girl that done it. And Ellen has given up the 


76 ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


Saturday night swarrys, and she gives nearly all 
her money to mother; and there’s less expense, and 
our meals are better, and we’ve had no fusses nor 
fights since — since — ” 

“Since when?” asked John, seeing that Jimmie 
hesitated. 

“By Jupiter! I didn’t think of it before; but 
all the fussing and unpleasantness has stopped 
since Margaret bought a picture of the Sacred 
Heart and hung it up in the kitchen, and kept a 
little lamp burning before it.” 

“Jimmie, my boy, Margaret is a jewel.” 

“You can just bet your bottom dollar on that. 
She always was a nice sort of a girl, John; but she 
just simply beat herself when she started to going 
to confession every week, and now there ain’t any 
of them in her class.” 

“I reckon,” John observed in a voice of medita- 
tion, “that you and I have been thinking that those 
boxing lessons fetched you around. Now, I’ll tell 
you what, youngster, I’m beginning to think that 
that sister of yours was praying hard all the time 
for you, and while we’re taking all the credit, she’s 
the one that’s getting it.” 

“Maybe you’re right. At the place she’s work- 
ing she’s got full right of way. The boss, some 
one told me, says she’s just a natural-born stenog- 
rapher. She can do double work, and, as like as 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


177 


not, she’ll get fifteen a week after Christmas, and 
that’s higher than they’ve ever paid any stenog- 
rapher in their concern.” 

“Now, suppose we get back to yourself. How’s 
the newspaper business?” 

“It’s pretty slow. I feel mighty glad when I 
clear four dollars in a week. The other day, 
though, I made ninety cents.” 

“Indeed?” 

“Yes; but that was pure luck. The papers were 
going fast enough because a guy out on Walnut 
Hills committed suicide and wrote a letter that was 
as good as a love story. Fact is, it was a love story 
and even women was a buying the evening edition. 
But my luck came in this way. An Avondale swell 
came along — Paul Ring, you know — and he was 
in such a hurry to get a car that he was almost 
failin’ over himself. He wanted a paper, and I gave 
him a Post. Then he thrun me a dime, and bawled 
at me to hurry up with the change. Well, you 
know what I did then?” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“Well, I couldn’t find the change. Of course I 
looked into the wrong pockets, and kept on fid- 
dling — the regular way, you know.” 

“No, I don’t,” contradicted John. 

“ Well,’ he growled, 'give me the change some 
other time,’ and hopped on to the car. You see, 
John, that was nine cents to the good.” 


178 ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


“I should say it was nine cents to the bad.” 

“Why, all the fellers do it; and if I was to give 
him back his nine cents they’d laugh me off the 
square.” 

“See here, James, did Mr. Ring give you that 
money to keep?” 

“N-no.” 

“Whose money was it ?” 

“His.” 

“Whose is it, since he has given it to no one?” 

“His.” 

“Therefore, that money is no more yours than 
if you had stolen it. What did Father Nelson say 
when you told him about it in confession ?” 

“Why, I never thought about telling him that!” 

“Well, I’d advise you to tell it. Why, James, I 
thought you were honest.” 

“So did I till just now,” answered James shame- 
facedly. “But, confound it all, I don’t see why I 
can’t hold on to money when all the other fel- 
lers — ” 

“I know what you’re going to say. You’re 
bringing up the old argument that is used to ex- 
cuse nearly all the smallness and dishonesty in the 
world. I thought better of you, James. I thought 
you intended to do right because it is right; and 
to avoid wrong because it is wrong.” 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


J 79 


“Halloa, here comes Margaret,” cried James, 
glad of a diversion. 

Neatly, modestly attired, with the heart of the 
rose in her cheeks, and eyes bright with health 
and intelligence, Margaret, who had been making 
a visit to St. Xavier’s Church, came down the 
street. She caught Jimmie’s voice, and turned her 
face with a smile towards her brother. 

John Larkin had arisen from his seat on the 
doorsteps, and, though the October dusk con- 
cealed the fact somewhat, was blushing violently. 

“Say, Margaret, I want you to know John Lar- 
kin. He’s the best friend I have, and he’s the one 
that taught me boxing.” 

Margaret offered her hand with frankness and 
cordiality. 

“I am very happy to meet you,” said John in 
an uncertain voice. 

“And I can say the same, Mr. Larkin. It is 
like meeting an old friend to meet you. Jimmie 
has made your name a household word. We all 
know how much you have done for him, and every 
one of us at home says 'God bless you’ every night 
of our lives.” 

In return to which John started fifteen different 
sentences, no one of which has been finished to this 
day. 

There was little more said on either side. 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


1 80 

When James and Margaret had departed John 
went within and summoned his sister. 

“I say, Liz, if you’re not too busy, come down a 
minute.” 

Elizabeth was never too busy when John called. 

“Please, Liz, sing me a song,” he continued 
when his sister had followed him into the parlor. 

“What shall I sing, John?” 

“That one about the one girl.” 

“ ‘There’s only one girl in the world for me?’ ” 

“That’s it.” 

Lizzie seated herself at the piano (it was a pres- 
ent to her from John) and sang it, wondering. 

“I say, Liz, that’s the best song I ever heard.” 

Lizzie made a grimace; it was not the style of 
music she affected. But then she did not under- 
stand. 


CHAPTER V. 

IN WHICH JIMMIE MAKES RESTITUTION AND A NEW 
A CQ U A1NTANCE. 

When James Gleason remarked in the course 
of his confession that he had cheated a man out of 
nine cents, Father Nelson merely observed, “Give 
it back to him,” and thought no more of it. 

Not so with our little newsboy. He yearned 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 181 

V 

for the day to come when he could assure John 
Larkin that full restitution had been made. So 
every afternoon, as he stood at his place on Foun- 
tain Square, he was on the lookout for Mr. Ring. 
But his wealthy patron seemed to have unaccount- 
ably disappeared. 

Two weeks passed. Then James determined to 
seek Mr. Ring in his den. Mr. Ring was well 
known down-town, and there was little trouble in 
getting his address. 

One Sunday afternoon, accordingly, Master 
Gleason, dressed in his best clothes and rejoicing 
in a tasty necktie which Margaret had thought- 
fully provided for him, took an Avondale car. He 
got out at Oak Street, and walking little more 
than a square found himself before a fine residence. 
A boy of about his own age, though, unlike Jim- 
mie, very thin and pale, was seated upon the ve- 
randa. Between him and James sloped a grassy 
lawn. 

“Halloa!” said the boy, as he observed that Jim 
mie was gazing at the house in some perplexity. 

“Halloa!” returned Jimmie. “Could you please 
tell me whether this is Mr. Paul Ring’s house?” 

“He’s my pa,” exclaimed the boy, rising and 
coming down the walk. “Won’t you come in?” 

As he spoke he threw open the iron gate and 
smiled very engagingly. 


82 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


James liked him at once. 

“I’m a newsboy,” he said. 

“Are you? When I was little I used to wish I 
could be one. My name is Cyril — Cyril Ring. 
What’s yours?” 

“Jimmie Gleason.” 

“I knew a boy named Gleason once. He used 
to go with me to St. Maure’s College. His first 
name was Gerald; is he any relation of yours? 
Why don’t you come on in?” 

“I guess there’s no need,” said James, “and none 
of my people go to school.” He fumbled in his 
pocket as he spoke, and brought out a nickel and 
four cent-pieces. “You see, three or four weeks 
ago, your father bought a paper of me, and gave 
me a dime and told me to give him the change 
some other time. He was in a hurry, you know. 
I’ve been looking for him for some time; but he 
hasn’t shown up, and I began to get anxious. You 
see, I promised I’d return the money.” 

Jimmie held the nine cents toward Cyril, who, 
however, made no motion to take them. 

“Come on in, James Gleason. Let’s sit down on 
the porch, and talk it over. I want you to tell me 
about the way you sell papers. It must be great 
fun.” 

“All right; I’ll come in, thank you. My! isn’t 
this a nice place? I’d like to live in a place like 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 183 

this, where you can see grass that’s green, and 
trees with lots of leaves on them. ,, 

“Where do you live?” 

“On Fifth, west of Broadway. It’s a tenement, 
and it’s pretty close,” answered James, as he took 
the chair to which Cyril motioned him. “But, 
look here, please take this money and give it to 
your father.” 

“Let’s talk about it,” said Cyril. “You said 
you promised to give it back, didn’t you?” 

“Did I?” 

James began to look confused. 

“Yes, you did. Now who was it you promised ?” 

“I’d rather not tell, Cyril.” 

“O, very well;” Cyril flushed a little. “I didn’t 
intend to be curious, you know. I beg your par- 
don.” 

“Well, I will tell you; only keep it a secret. The 
priest told me to do it.” 

“O, you’re a Catholic boy. I’m glad to know 
that. I’m one myself, and the fellows around here, 
though some of them are very nice, are none of 
them Catholics. But why didn’t you give the 
money back to pa down-town?” 

“I wanted to; I’ve been trying to catch him for 
about two weeks. But he didn’t show up, and 
then I made up my mind to get it off my con- 
science, and so I came here.” 


84 ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


“Pa was away for a week in Columbus on some 
business — he calls it a deal, whatever that means. 
Then when he got home he was laid up with a 
cold, and that’s the reason you didn’t see him.’’ 

“I hope he’s all right now,’’ said James. 

“Yes; he’s been sitting up the last three days, 
and to-morrow he intends to go down-town.” 

“Well, I’ll not bother him. You give him the 
money, and that will be the end of it.” 

“What’s the use? Nine cents is nothing to pa, 
and it may be a good deal to you.” 

“Yes; but you see the nine cents are his, and 
they aren’t mine.” 

“Just wait one minute. Oh, I beg pardon — 
won't you come in? and I'll run up and see pa.” 

“There’s no need of calling him,” James made 
answer. “I can settle the thing with you, and — ” 

But Cyril had thrown open the front door and 
was skimming up the stairs. 

He returned very shortly, followed by his father, 
who looked rather perplexed. 

“Well, young man, what’s your business?” he 
began, putting a hand on Gleason’s shoulder, and 
looking him squarely in the eyes. 

“I sold you a paper once, Mr. Ring,” began Jim- 
mie, dropping his hat in his confusion, and not 
daring to pick it up. “You give me ten cents, and 
didn’t have no time to wait for the change.” 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 185 

Jimmie’s grammar grew sensibly worse under 
the eyes of Mr. Ring. Cyril, who looked some- 
what alarmed at his father’s stern demeanor, 
picked up the fallen hat, and stood by an inter- 
ested and pained spectator. 

“Be seated,” said Mr. Ring, releasing his grasp, 
and taking a chair himself. 

Jimmie placed himself on the edge of the chair, 
blushing as though he had been detected in the act 
of robbing a hen-roost. 

“What’s your name, boy?” 

“Jimmie Gleason?” 

“How old are you?” 

“I’m thirteen, sir; near fourteen.” 

“When do you expect to be fourteen?” 

“Two days before Christmas, sir.” 

“Well, I suppose yon can wait that long. You 
were a Christmas gift to your parents, weren’t 
you?” 

“I guess so, sir,” Jimmie answered, trying to 
smile, and wondering whether the man before him 
with the set, stern gaze was serious or not. 

“So you came to give me back those nine 
cents?” 

“Yes, sir; that’s it,” said Jimmie eagerly. “Here 
they are.” 

Mr. Ring took the nine cents, counted them 
elaborately three times, critically examined one of 


i86 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


the coins, which had an ancient appearance, then 
put them into his vest pocket. 

“What do you do for a living, young man ?” 

“Sell papers, sir.” 

“How much does that bring you?” 

“From about three dollars and a quarter to four 
dollars a week.” 

“Do you like it?” 

“I do it to help along, sir.” 

“Can’t you do anything else besides selling pa- 
pers?” 

“Not that I know of, sir.” 

“Can you read ?” 

“As high as fifth reader.” 

“Can you write?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Any accomplishments?” 

Jimmie stared. 

“Can you do anything else?” 

“I — I can box, sir.” 

“O, I say; I’ve a pair of boxing gloves,” began 
Cyril. But his father, by a warning glance, re- 
duced him to silence. 

“I suppose you can turn handsprings and walk 
on your hands and bend the crab?” 

“Yes, sir. And I’m pretty good on the turning 
pole and the parallel bars. Since I joined Father 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


187 

Nelson’s club, I’ve been practicing regularly, and 
John Larkin has given me lessons.” 

“Say, pa, mayn’t I take James up to see my 
gymnasium?” 

“Now one more question, and I’ll let you go. 
Who put you up to coming here with the money?” 

For a moment there was an angry gleam in the 
eye of the poor newsboy. Mr. Ring noticed it. 

“Well,” he added quickly, “I see I made a mis- 
take in asking that question. Good-by.” 

“Good-by, sir,” answered Jimmie, coldly. He 
then turned to Cyril with a cordial smile. “Good- 
by, Cyril; I’m glad I met you.” 

Cyril shook the offered hand cordially, but said 
nothing. Then Jimmie, feeling a little sick at 
heart, turned his face from the splendid mansion. 
Such places and such people were not for him. 

“By the way,” called Mr. Ring, before the boy 
had reached the last of the flight of steps. “Did 
you come out in the car?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Going back that way?” 

“No, sir; I reckon I’ll foot it home.” 

“Do you feel like walking?” 

“I’d rather ride, sir; but ” Jimmie finished 

his sentence with a blush. 

“You have a right, young man, to charge me 


i88 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


for carriage expenses. Here’s ten cents to cover 
them.” 

“But you lose a cent, sir.” 

“Take it anyhow.” 

Reluctantly Jimmie received the money. He 
was afraid to refuse it. Then he went down the 
path and took a car, feeling sore and bruised. 

As for Cyril, there were large tears in his eyes, 
but he said nothing, and tasted the bitterness of 
life in silence. 


CHAPTER VI. 

IN WHICH JIMMIE GLEASON DISCO VERS THAT FIGHTING 
ON THE STREET HAS ITS DISADVANTAGES. 

The boys’ Sodality were assembled in St. 
Xavier’s Church for their regular Sunday meeting. 
Suspended by a ribbon round his neck, each boy 
wore a large medal of the Blessed Mother, and each 
boy’s shining Sunday face showed that he gloried 
in the wearing thereof. 

They were a brave set, for the most part — hon- 
est, eager, intelligent, a little robust in their 
Christianity, not extraordinarily stylish in their 
dress, but right, valiant, though sometimes erring, 
clients of the Blessed Mother of God. Of such are 
the hopes of a good parish. 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 189 

They recited the Office in no uncertain tones. 
Barring a few variations from the conventional 
manner of pronunciation, the effect was imposing. 
Then, when their voices — one hundred and fifty 
strong — took up the joyful theme, “Hail, Mother 
of Our Maker, hail! Thou Virgin ever blest,” 
Father Langdon felt inspired. The singing was 
robustious. There were no piano passages in the 
performance: save when they made an uncertain 
start, the song was fortissimo. 

Then Father Langdon made a mistake. He was 
an old missionary Father, whose fame has gone 
over the United States. His earnestness and unc- 
tion seldom failed to move the hearts of his hearers. 
On this occasion he was thoroughly aroused by 
the edifying conduct of the little fellows before 
him. Father Nelson had requested him to conduct 
the exercises, and begged him to “stir the boys 
up.” And he certainly did stir them up. 

He exhorted his brave little hearers to stand up 
for their faith, not to yield to human respect, to 
be strong, valiant soldiers of Christ. Then he 
poked fun at the weak-kneed Catholic boy, and, 
really inspired by the eager attention of all, he 
concluded by appealing to them to fight for their 
religion. Now, with his hearers there was only one 
possible meaning to the word fight. 

When the boys issued from the church, most of 


190 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


them were only too eager to stand up for their 
faith. A party of little Jews — harmless youngsters 
— happened to be passing tranquilly at the time. 
One of them was very much astonished by receiv- 
ing a whack on the head. There was no more 
tranquillity in that party. A moment later they 
were rushing down the street for their lives, pur- 
sued by at least two dozen defenders of the faith. 
There were many other things that happened, 
which I omit. The policeman on the beat had a 
bad quarter of an hour, after which he went to 
Father Nelson and begged him as a personal favor 
to suppress the Sodality. 

“Those fellows don’t want no medals,” he said 
pathetically; “what they want is a patrol wagon 
with a little clubbing now and then by way of 
variety.” 

Father Nelson explained the little mistake, and 
sent Officer Jenkins away perfectly satisfied, and 
the richer by half a dozen cigars. 

Jimmie Gleason was delighted with the sermon. 
His great desire on leaving the church was to meet 
a real, genuine member of the A. P. A. disorgan- 
ization — age and strength being no consideration. 

He did not happen to meet a member of this 
particular society for the promotion of ignorance; 
but, as luck would have it, he came upon Scrappy 
Jones. 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


191 

Then it struck his tender conscience all at once 
that Scrappy had, on a former occasion, called 
him “a Catholic cur.” He remembered that he 
had resented the term “cur” according to his abil- 
ity, but it came home to him now that he had taken 
no thought of the opprobious use of “Catholic.” 

They were on the corner of Fifth and Sycamore. 

A few words passed, and presently the two were 
locked together in combat. They had not fairly 
begun when a gentleman stepped between them, 
and with a single movement sent the two flying 
apart. 

Jimmie was not a little disconcerted on discov- 
ering that the unlooked-for peacemaker was Mr. 
Ring. 

“Ah, Mr. Gleason,” he said mockingly, “sorry to 
disturb you in your Sunday festivities.” 

“He called me a Catholic cur, sir,” panted James. 

“Why, that was three months ago,” answered 
Scrappy. 

“Yes, but I didn’t take no notice of it then,” re- 
torted James. 

Mr. Ring smiled. 

“Come with me, Gleason,” he said. 

They walked along for half the length of the 
square in silence. 

“My little boy, Cyril,” Mr. Ring at last began, 
“took a liking to you, and wanted me to ask you 


192 


ONE S1EE AND THEN ANOTHER. 


to come and see him. I was going to do so; but, 
really, after the little scene in which you have just 
figured, I don’t see my way to doing it. Fighting 
on the street gives one the idea that the fighters 
are toughs.” 

“Yes; and I broke my promise I made to John 
Larkin. I’m sorry, sir; I like Cyril; but I know I’m 
not fit company for him. Good-by, sir.” 

And Jimmie, covered with blushes, slunk away. 
He told his sad story to Margaret; but even she, 
with all her gentle sympathy, could not console 
him. 

Scrappy had not so much as touched him; yet 
Jimmie felt that on this occasion he had met with 
the bitterest defeat of his life. 


CHAPTER VII. 

IN WHICH JIMMIE UNDERTAKES TO CURE CYRIL'S FEVER. 

For fully a fortnight James Gleason was deep 
in the slough of despond. He was very severe 
with himself, and spent much thought in consider- 
ing how he might repair his evil manners. 

One little drop of consolation found its way into 
the heart of these dark days: Mr. Ring bought an 
evening paper of him regularly, always with a 
kindly glance, occasionally with a few friendly 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


r 93 


words. For some reason which he could not ac- 
count for to himself, James set great store on the 
good opinion of Mr. Ring. Next to Father Nel- 
son, whom James worshipped, he was our little 
newsboy’s hero. 

One afternoon Mr. Ring informed Jimmie that 
Cyril was quite sick. 

“What’s the matter with him, sir?” 

“It’s some sort of a fever, James. The doctor is 
afraid that it may develop into typhoid fever. Pray 
for him, won’t you? He’s naturally a very delicate 
boy.” 

“You bet I will, sir; and I’ll tell Father Nelson, 
too.” 

So Cyril had a fever! James remembered the 
time — it must have been when he was a toddler of 
seven — when he tossed about restlessly on a burn- 
ing couch, and when kindly neighbors entering, 
and feeling his brow, exclaimed: “Poor boy, what a 
fever he has!” And he remembered, too, how 
some of them, who could ill afford it, brought him 
in large, delicious oranges. Upon my word, I 
know of nothing in this world more touching and 
more beautiful than the kindness of the very poor 
to the very poor. 

In Jimmie’s mind there was a close connection 
between fever and oranges. He counted his little 
grains as he stood at his corner. There were 

o 


194 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


seventy-five cents on hand. Here James took a 
desperate resolution; he would spend sixty cents 
on oranges, carry them to the door of Mr. Ring’s 
house, ring the bell, and run away. Afterwards 
he would explain the matter to his mother. 

He entered a fruiterer’s and asked to see the fin- 
est oranges they had. The clerk, wearing an ex- 
pression of respectful astonishment, pointed out 
a pyramid of them which made Jimmie’s mouth 
water. 

“How much are they?” 

“One dollar a dozen.” 

“Are they for you, Johnnie?” asked an elderly 
man who happened to be passing the two at the 
moment. Jimmie recognized the proprietor. 

“No, sir; for a boy. He’s sick, and he’s a friend 
of mine.” 

“Give him a half dozen, Phil,” said the man as 
he proceeded on his way to the office. 

“Thank you, sir; but I’d rather pay.” 

“Very well; give him wholesale prices, Phil. I 
think he’s a good fellow.” 

Jimmie got the oranges for thirty-five cents, and 
departed happy and blessing the proprietor. He 
could afford to take the cars now. 

When Mr. Ring’s housemaid answered a ring at 
the door, she found a package, to which was at- 
tached a slip of paper, with the words: “To Cyril 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


*95 


Ring, from a friend. Directions — Take one every 
time you feel dry. Never say die.” 

“There’s only one person in the whole circle of 
my acquaintances who could have done that,” 
Mr. Ring observed to his wife, as the two sat be- 
side the fever-stricken boy. 

“And who is that?” she asked. 

“Jimmie Gleason,” said a weak voice from the 
bedclothes. 

“You have said it, Cyril. I really think I must 
invite him to come after all. God bless the little 
rowdy.” 

“Do, papa, please!” cried the bright-eyed, 
flushed child, sitting up in his excitement. 

“Yes; I’ll do it. There’s a lot of good in the 
world, that we can’t see on account of poor clothes 
and tenement quarters.” 

On the following afternoon Jimmie Gleason at 
his station on Fountain Square, was somewhat as- 
tonished when a messenger boy came up to him 
and handed him a letter. 

“No answer,” said the messenger boy, shortly, 
and walked away. 

Jimmie tore open the envelope, and read the fol- 
lowing inclosure: 

“Master James Gleason: 

“My little boy, Cyril, wishes to see you. He has 
taken quite a liking to you; and, as he is sick, I let 


196 one step and then another. 


him have his way. On receiving this, please call 
at my office; I want to have a talk with you. 

“Yours truly, 

“Paul M. Ring.” 

The light of joy shone in Jimmie’s eyes, as he at 
once made for Mr. Ring’s office. 

“Ah, there you are,” said Mr. Ring in a voice 
that was extremely cordial. He was seated at a 
desk examining a closely-written document of 
many pages. “I’m glad to see you, my boy.” 

As he held out his hand, which Jimmie clasped, 
he continued: 

“By the way, what do you consider the best 
thing for fever?” 

“Oranges, sir,” answered Jimmie with convic- 
tion. 

“Ah! That was very nice of you. Where did 
you buy them ?” 

“How did you find out, sir?” asked the boy, very 
much surprised. 

“A little bird told me. But now suppose we get 
down to business. This is your time for selling pa- 
pers, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, sir; I begin at two and keep on till half- 
past six.” 

“What are you making a week ?” 

“Between three and four dollars, sir.” 

“And what are you doing in the morning?” 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


197 


“I do some reading and studying, sir. My sister 
Margaret tells me what to do. And I go over my 
work with her every night.” 

“Indeed! I’m pleased to hear that. Either you 
are a very good fellow, or your sister Margaret is 
a wonder.” 

“That’s just what she is, sir. She’s doing her 
best to make me respectable. I don’t think there 
are many girls like her.” 

Mr. Ring looked pleased. He held that any boy 
gave promise who was devoted to his sister. 

“What are you studying, Jimmie?” 

“Arithmetic and book-keeping, sir. I don’t 
know much about the book-keeping yet, but I’m 
pretty good at figuring.” 

“Can you write a fair hand?” 

“I — I don’t know, sir. If you wish, I’ll show 
you.” 

“Very well; copy this letter for me.” 

Jimmie took the letter which Mr. Ring had 
picked from among a number on his desk, and, 
seating himself at a small table, proceeded to fol- 
low out his instructions. Mr. Ring, meanwhile, 
addressed himself to the formidable document 
which he had laid down on the boy’s entrance. 

“I’m done, sir,” said Jimmie, presently. 

“So soon?” Mr. Ring took up the freshly writ- 
ten page, and ran his eye over it. 


198 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


“That’s not half bad,” he said presently. “It 
has the one great merit of being legible, which is 
really nine points of penmanship. Keep on, my boy. 
You are on the right track. Perhaps some day I 
may be able to do something for you.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Jimmie made blushing reply. 
He was sensitive to praise, as are all high-spirited 
boys. “If you please, sir, I think I’ll call on Cyril 
this afternoon.” 

“What about your papers?” 

“I guess I can let ’em go for Cyril, sir.” 

“What made you take such a liking to Cyril, 
my boy?” Mr. Ring looked more pleasant than 
ever. Jimmie Gleason, if he only knew it, had 
touched the tenderest chord in the man’s heart. 

“Because — well, he’s such a nice feller. He’s not 
one bit stuck up, and he has such a kind face. I 
don’t see how any one could help liking him.” 

Little did our newsboy realize just then all the 
consequences of his few words. Mr. Ring was 
charmed. For a moment there was a suspicious 
moisture in his eye. 

“Look here, Gleason,” he resumed after a min- 
ute’s pause, during which he absently arranged the 
papers upon his desk. “Look here as he repeated 
the phrase, he wheeled round in his office chair and 
fixed his penetrating eyes full upon Gleason’s face, 
“that boy of mine is innocent.” 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


199 


“Yes, sir,” said Gleason vaguely. 

“He knows little or nothing of the world’s 
wickedness, and you do.” 

“I’ve been thrun in all kinds of company,” an- 
swered Jimmie meekly, “and I reckon I’ve heard 
and seen a lot I didn’t had ought to.” 

The critical Mr. Ring was too absorbed in the 
subject of discussion to observe the wonderful end- 
ing of Jimmie’s sentence. He went on: 

“Now, if I thought that you would teach him 
anything wrong, that you would be careless in your 
talk with him, I’d see you hanged before I’d let 
you become a friend of his. Of course, I don’t 
think that you would purposely do anything of the 
sort; but it might happen very easily that without 
giving the matter thought, you would branch out 
into topics unsuited for the ears of Cyril.” 

“Since I joined the Sodality, sir,” Gleason said, 
“I have tried to be careful in my talk. I was the 
same as the rest of the fellers up to that; but now 
I’m doing pretty well. And, sir, I’d rather cut my 
tongue out than say anything Cyril shouldn’t 
hear.” 

“That is spoken like a man,” cried Mr. Ring with 
genuine enthusiasm. “You’re of the right sort, 
my boy. If you keep your Sodality resolution and 
speak always as though your sister were within 
earshot, you’ll grow up to be a Christian gentle- 


200 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


man — after all, there’s nothing higher than that 
for you or for me.” 

“I intend to keep it, sir,” said Gleason firmly. 
“Father Nelson gave me a pointer on that, the 
first time I went to him to confession. He said 
pretty much what you’ve just said.” 

“Very good; how many papers have you under 
your arm?” 

“Fourteen, sir.” 

“Give me the lot. Here’s fourteen cents for 
them, and ten cents for your carfare. I think you 
may go to Avondale at once.” 

“Thank you, sir,” said Gleason, accepting the 
money. “But first I think I'll run home, and 
brush up a bit, and try to look my prettiest.” 

“Very good. Got over your fighting habit?” 

“You made me awfully ashamed of myself, sir. 
I’m doing better now.” 

“Good-by, then. I’ll see you soon again.” 

“Good-by, sir. And I’m very much obliged.” 

“By the way,” cried Mr. Ring, as Jimmie reached 
the office door. “Call to see me this time to-mor- 
row.” 

“All right, sir.” 

When James had departed Mr. Ring fell into a 
brown study. Five minutes or more passed; then 
he roused himself, wrote a memorandum which he 
placed on a file, and said: 

"Yes, I’ll do it.” 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


201 


CHAPTER VIII. 

IN WHICH JIMMIE GLEASON FORGETS HIMSELF , AND IS 
PLUNGED FROM HAPPINESS TO DESPAIR. 

“I think I’m going to get better now,” said Cy- 
ril as he caught Jimmie Gleason’s hand, and held 
it for some moments. 

He was lying on his bed, in his own little room, 
which was a marvel of neatness, and made fragrant 
by the breath of flowers placed on a table within 
reach of his wasted hand. 

Jimmie Gleason took in many things at a glance. 
He had never seen a sick-room like this. How 
neat and pretty it all was! Flowers, and fragrance, 
and light and air. Jimmie almost wished that he 
were ill himself. He rejected the thought, and 
addressed himself to the invalid. 

“I’m dead sorry to see you sick, Cyril; but I’m 
glad to see you. I had a long talk with your father. 
Pie was very nice to me. I like him; but I’m aw- 
fully afraid of him.” 

“Afraid of my father!” cried Cyril. “Why, he’s 
just the nicest man in the world.” 

“He is nice,” assented Jimmie, “but that’s just 
the trouble. He’s so far above me that I’m always 


202 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER, 


afraid of putting my foot in it. You see, I haven’t 
any manners; I’ve been awfully careless, and when 
I get in his company, I’m always wondering 
whether I’m doing things right or not.” 

“But papa likes you all the same. He says you’re 
honest, and that you are bound to make your 
mark if you remain so.” 

“Did he say that?” asked Jimmie, with bright- 
ening eyes. 

“Yes; and he says that if you stick to your faith, 
you are sure to remain honest.” 

“Well, I hope I’ll do that, anyhow. I’m pretty 
sure to stick to it, so long as I belong to the So- 
dality.” 

“I’m a member of the Sodality myself, Jimmie. 
When I was going to St. Maure’s last year I was 
prefect of the junior division.” 

“Were you prefect?” 

“Yes, though I don’t know why. There were 
so many boys there who were so good. I knew 
some little boys amongst them who went to con- 
fession and communion twice a week.” 

“Gee! That was mighty often. I’d like to go 
every week myself, only I’d be a hypocrite if I did.” 

“How would you be a hypocrite?” 

“Well, people would think I was awfully pious, 
and I’m not. I — I wish I were good enough to go 
often.” 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


203 


“O, for that matter,’’ said Cyril, rising to a sit- 
ting position in his bed, “none of us are fit to go at 
all. We don’t go because we are fit to go, but be- 
cause Our Lord wants us to come to Him; and 
the oftener we go, provided we do it the right way, 
the better we shall become. That’s what the 
Father I used to go to confession to told me.” 

“Father Nelson advised me to go oftener, too; 
but I thought he said so because he didn’t 
know how bad I was. I think I’ll see him about it 
again.” 

The two branched off into a rambling talk about 
school days, newspaper selling, athletics, and, of 
course, baseball. On this point, Jimmie Gleason 
was an oracle — and an eloquent oracle at that. He 
seemed to know the history of every prominent 
player in the league. Cyril, still very weak, lay 
back and listened to story after story of great 
plays upon the diamond. Gleason could not possi- 
bly have hit upon a topic more interesting to the 
little invalid. All the restraints born of the 
strange surroundings had passed away, and Glea- 
son talked with a freedom and humor that sent 
the hours flying on golden wings. 

Waxing more animated, he arose and by a vivid 
object lesson showed the various deliveries of the 
great pitchers; and the room grew gay with sil- 
very laughter as Cyril watched the wondrous con- 


204 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


tortions of body and hand which Jimmie presented 
to his alert gaze. 

Finally, the narrator came to describe the sinu- 
ous delivery of the once famous Foutz. He 
doubled himself up; then, so to speak, shook him- 
self out again, and threw back his arm with a wide 
and rapid swing. Alas! that swing embraced in its 
course a beautiful vase upon the mantel. Down 
it came with a crash, shivered into a hundred frag- 
ments. 

What was that which rang out upon the sudden 
stillness which succeeded the fall? 

Jimmie Gleason had forgotten himself, and an 
oath, brutal, coarse, disgusting, had slipped from 
his lips. 

He could have bitten his tongue out an instant 
later. He gazed at the broken vase. There it lay 
shattered, like the dream that had just come into 
lus own life. He had broken a vase — that was bad 
enough. He had broken his word — that was a 
thousand times worse. A filthy oath, reeking of 
the slums and of the gutter, had found its way 
into the sanctity of that beautiful room, and into 
the startled ears of the pure and innocent boy 
whose life, he knew, had been so sweet and un- 
tainted. The bitterness of death and parting had 
come upon the newsboy’s soul, the bitterness of 
the spoken and irrevocable word that had thrown 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


205 


aside for a moment a corner of the curtain which 
hid what was filthiest and vilest in his life. 

Jimmie turned from the contemplation of the 
vase, and looked upon Cyril. Gentleman as he 
was, Cyril could not restrain the expression of pain 
and wonder which that oath had evoked. 

Just for the fraction of a second did Jimmie gaze 
upon him, then, his face white as marble, with a 
sound that was at once a groan and a sob, he 
sprang from the room, and hurried down the stairs. 

Gone gone forever, was all the new-born loveli- 
ness. In shattering that vase, he had shattered his 
career. The pale, frightened boy who left that 
house like a thief had reached a moment in his life 
when the present and the future were robed in the 
black horror of despair. 

CHAPTER IX. 

IN WHICH MARGARET COMES TO THE HELP OF HER 
BROTHER AND MR. RING “ DOES IT." 

“A young lady to see you, sir,” said a clerk to 
Mr. Ring at noontide of the following day. 

Mr. Ring wheeled about in his chair and gazed 
in mild surprise at a timid girl. 

“What can I do for you, Miss?” he said. 

The girl was pale and trembling. She tried to 
speak, but no word came from her lips. 


206 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


Mr. Ring feared that there was going to be a 
scene. 

“Sit down, Miss — here, take this.” He arose 
and brought a chair over beside his desk. 

The girl seated herself, brushing away, as she did 
so, a tear. 

“If you please, sir, I am Margaret Gleason, the 
sister of little Jimmie.” 

“Oh, indeed; I am glad to see you. I have heard 
of you, and I think when I did, your ears must 
have burned.” Mr. Ring took Margaret’s hand. 
He was very cordial and reassuring in his manner. 

“I came to see you about Jimmie, sir. My poor 
brother has lost heart and does not dare to face 
you.” 

“Because of that broken vase? Why, I only 
happened to hear of it by the merest accident. 
Pooh! that’s nothing. What’s a vase more or less? 
In fact, there were too many at home. He needn’t 
worry about that in the least. All of us break 
things now and then.” 

“But that is not what is bothering him so much, 
sir. Of course, he is grieved about that, too; he 
is ashamed of his awkwardness, and talks about his 
being a bull in a china shop.” 

“O, it’s his sudden departure — his taking French 
leave, so to speak, that worries him. Well, it 
wasn’t exactly good form, I admit. But he’s only 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


207 


a boy, and not accustomed to the unpleasant sur- 
prises of life. Tell him he needn’t worry.” 

‘‘But, sir, surely you know he didn’t run away 
on account of the broken vase?” 

“That is just what I thought, Margaret.” 

“Didn’t you hear what he said, sir?” 

“Why, no; what did he say?” 

“Didn’t Cyril tell you anything?” 

“Beyond saying that Jimmie had gone off in a 
sort of panic after accidentally breaking a vase, I 
got nothing out of Cyril. It was like pulling teeth 
to get even that information. Of course, he told 
me what a fine time they were both having up to 
the vase incident — and on the first point he was 
sufficiently eloquent.” 

“Cyril was very kind, sir; but he didn’t tell you 
the whole story. My poor brother was so shocked 
at the accident, that he forgot himself and said 
something which he thinks has disgraced him for- 
ever.” 

“Indeed! What did he say?” 

“I didn’t ask him, sir. I thought he had told me 
enough.” 

“I beg your pardon, Margaret. I should not 
have asked you that question, anyhow. And you 
were quite right in not probing any further. So 
Jimmie is badly cut up?” 

“He’s in a dreadful state of mind, sir. He says 


208 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


he is not fit to come near your little boy. I never 
yet saw Jimmie so utterly wretched. He’s afraid 
to come near you.” 

“Tell him I want to see him this afternoon.” 

“I’m afraid he won’t come, sir.” 

“Make him come.” 

“I’ll try. But please deal gently with him. If 
you only knew how hard my brother is trying to 
be good. Poor little fellow; he’s had no chances. 
He’s lived on the street, and mother has had no 
chance till lately to watch over him. We have all 
been struggling, and I often wonder how it is that 
Jimmie is so good. Since he joined the Sodality, 
he has changed so much, and he is the best of 
brothers. If you knew how hard he is trying, you 
would forgive him for that slip of yesterday. You 
have no idea, sir, how much he thinks of your good 
opinion.” 

“I promise you, Margaret, to be kind to him, if 
he comes. Can’t you persuade him to see me?” 

“Really, sir, I fear that he is too ashamed to face 
you.” 

“Jimmie is a boy of his word, isn’t he?” 

“O, yes, Mr. Ring. If he makes a promise, he 
keeps it.” 

“Very well. Now, yesterday he promised to call 
on me to-day.” 

“Did he?” 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


209 


“Yes, and tell him that I hold him to his 
promise.” 

“Now I’m sure he will come, no matter what it 
costs him. Well, Mr. Ring” — here Margaret arose 
— “I want to thank you for your great kindness to 
my brother. His acquaintance with your little boy 
Cyril has done him so much good. Good-by, sir.” 

“Hold on one moment,, Margaret. Where is 
Jimmie now?” 

“He’s home, sir, and moping — a thing I never 
knew him to do before.” 

“Perhaps I can save trouble by calling on him 
personally. Are you engaged for the next hour?” 

“No, sir; I am free till one o’clock. I called in 
to see you on my way home to dinner.” 

“If you don’t mind, then, I’ll go along with you.” 

Margaret demurred faintly. She spoke of the 
poor quarters and surroundings, to which Mr. 
Ring answered by a smile, as he took up his hat 
and escorted his new acquaintance out of the office 
and into the street. 

Very soon they reached the tenement. They 
found Mrs. Gleason, her daughter Mary, and Jim- 
mie at table. They all arose in some confusion at 
the sight of their unlooked-for visitor; and Jim- 
mie’s face turned ashen gray. Conscience had 
made a coward of him. 

“Mother, this is Mr. Ring,” began Margaret. 


2 10 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


“He has come here to see Jimmie, since Jimmie 
wouldn’t come to him.” 

“You are very welcome, Mr. Ring,” said Mrs. 
Gleason. “But I am sorry I didn’t know you were 
coming. Things aren’t in very good order,” and 
she cast an anxious look about the kitchen. 

It was poor in conveniences yet withal very 
neat and clean. The fare upon the table, though 
simple, was inviting. 

“I am glad to meet Jimmie’s mother,” Mr. Ring 
made answer with a courtliness which set her at 
her ease. “And this, I take it, is Jimmie’s sister. 
And how are you, Jimmie?” 

Jimmie came forward and shook hands, but he 
dared not lift up his eyes. 

“Are you sorry to see me, my boy ?” 

“I’m ashamed, sir.” 

Meantime Mrs. Gleason had brought in the 
“best chair” from the other room. 

“No, thank you; I won’t sit down. I see I am 
interrupting your meals. If you have no objec- 
tions, I’ll take Jimmie off with me.” 

“Indeed no, sir,” answered Mrs. Gleason, look- 
ing, nevertheless, puzzled. 

“The fact is,” explained Mr. Ring, “I examined 
him yesterday, and found that he writes a very legi- 
ble hand and spells quite well. I’ve got some copy- 
ing I want done, and I think Jimmie will do it ad- 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


21 I 


mirably. I intend putting him to work right now, 
at a salary of five dollars a week, and if he does as 
well as I expect, he will g© higher and higher every 
year.” 

“God bless you, Mr. Ring,” said the mother. 

Margaret’s face began to quiver. 

“Come on, Jimmie. Good-by,” and Mr. Ring, 
who disliked scenes, was out of the room and go- 
ing down the stairs before another word could be 
said. 

“Mr. Ring, did — did Margaret tell you about 
what I said?” asked Jimmie, as they reached the 
street. 

“She did, my boy. But you have done penance. 
And I’m sure that, should you live a hundred years, 
nothing like that will ever again escape from your 
mouth.” 

“I think you are right, sir. I am cured of that 
sort of thing forever.” 

CHAPTER X. 

IN WHICH JIMMIE GLEASON TAKES A CARRIAGE RIDE , 
AND FINDS A HOME. 

Brighter days had come for the Gleasons. 
Jimmie was no longer a newsboy, but, as assistant 
secretary to Mr. Ring, holding a position which 
promised to be permanent. The hours of work 


2 12 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


were short — from eight in the morning to four in 
the afternoon. Never did a boy enter with greater 
zest into a position of trust than Jimmie Gleason. 
He was proud of his promotion and determined 
that Mr. Ring should never regret the trust he had 
put in him. 

He still smarted under the disgrace he had 
brought upon himself in his visit to Cyril, and, al- 
though he inquired earnestly after his friend’s 
health, nothing could induce him to set foot o 
the house where he had behaved so ill. 

One Monday morning, Jimmie came down to 
the office looking happier than usual. 

“Some good news?” queried Mr. Ring, senten- 
tiously. 

“The very best, sir. First of all, I hear that Cy- 
ril is able to go out.” 

“Yes; he takes a ride to-day. Where did you 
learn that?” 

“I’ve got one of the fellers who lives in Avondale 
and belongs to our Sodality to keep tab of him, 
sir.” 

“Well, is that all?” 

“No, sir; I’ve been made an officer in our So- 
dality. I don’t feel fit for it, sir, but Father Nelson 
wouldn’t let me out of it, and, besides, I reckon 
it will help me to behave myself better than I used 
to.” 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


213 


“Did you ask Father Nelson to get some one 
else in your place as officer?” 

“Yes, sir. But he thrun — I mean, he threw a 
lot of bouquets at me.” 

“Yes?” said Mr. Ring, with an inflection in his 
voice which invited further confidence. 

“Yes, sir. He said that he hoped great things 
of me; he said that I had had fine chances, and that 
he thought I would have sense enough to use them 
well.” 

“Father Nelson is right, I trust. He expects 
something of you, and so do I. Now, get to work, 
and finish with those papers as fast as you can. 
You must be free by two o’clock for some outside 
work.” 

On that day two o’clock came very swiftly. Jim- 
mie was still hard at it copying, when a light hand 
was laid on his shoulder. He turned, and the pen 
dropped unnoticed from his hand. Beside him 
stood Cyril, wan of feature, but with the light of 
joy and love in his sunken eyes. 

Jimmie’s face grew red with shame, while his 
eyes brightened with delight. Altogether, his po- 
sition was very embarrassing. But Cyril quickly 
relieved him. 

“How are you, Jimmie? When the mountain 
wouldn’t come to Mahomet, Mahomet went to the 
mountain; and here I am, and here you are, and 


214 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


there’s a carriage down-stairs, and papa has given 
permission for you to come with me, and — and — 
get your hat and come.” 

Still somewhat dazed, Jimmie put away his pa- 
pers, and, receiving an encouraging nod from Mr. 
Ring, who, meanwhile, had been whispering some- 
thing very pleasant in Cyril’s ear, he took the con- 
valescent’s arm, and helped him gently to the car- 
riage. 

It was a clear, cool day in late autumn. The 
street was bright and gay with sunlight and with 
people. Even the coachman upon the box, to 
Jimmie’s eyes, looked jolly and happy. And so he 
was, for he, too, loved Cyril, as did all who enjoyed 
the acquaintance of that cheerful little man. 

“Drive us through Clifton and back by way of 
Eden Park, Jack,” cried the little master; and off 
they clattered before happy Jimmie Gleason could 
_ say a word. 

“Did you get my letter, Cyril?” 

“Of course I did; and I’d have answered it, too, 
only I was in hopes papa would persuade you to 
come out and see me. But why should you apolo- 
gize? It was I that should have apologized. I 
showed worse manners than you did. When a man 
is surprised into making a slip of some sort, well- 
bred people should not notice it. You forgot 
yourself, and so did I. So we’re even. And I 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


21 5 


know, Jimmie, you didn’t mean what you said. 
And now we’ve settled that little point for good 
. and all.” 

“I never thought you’d take it that way, Cyril. 
I deserved to be kicked out of your house. When 
I left that night I thought that it was all over with 
me; and instead of that, your father gave me a 
splendid place, and has been treating me like a 
prince.” 

“And did you know, Jimmie, that he is delighted 
with you ?” 

“Is he really?” 

“Yes; he says that you have a first-rate head for 
business. Two weeks from now he’s going to raise 
your salary.” 

“How do you know?” 

“That’s what he told me just now. He says you 
can work as fast as boys of eighteen or nineteen.” 

“If that’s so,” said Gleason, reflectively, “we can 
begin to put by a little money.” 

“Papa told me you live in an ugly old tenement. 
Is that so?” 

“Yes, it is ugly. That’s a fact — it would be 
good for Margaret and Ellen and Mary if we could 
get a better place to live in. I never thought of 
that before.” 

“How much rent do you pay a month?” 

“Nine dollars and a half.” 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


216 

“Wouldn’t it be nice, Jimmie, if you could find 
a little house where you could all live together by 
yourselves?” 

“Why,” cried Jimmie enthusiastically, “that 
would be home” 

For a short time there was silence. Both were 
busily thinking. 

“Yes,” said Jimmie aloud, “I think we can afford 
to spend more money on rent. I’ll see mother 
about it to-night. Halloa!” he cried suddenly, as 
they were passing a corner where two car lines in- 
tersected, “look, Cyril, that’s John Larkin. 
Halloa, John,” he vociferated, putting his head out 
of the window. 

The coachman, hearing the cry, and thinking 
that he was addressed, brought the horses to a halt. 
Larkin, who had been waiting for a car, stepped 
forward and caught Gleason’s hand. 

“Are you going towards Clifton?” asked Cyril. 

“Yes.” 

“Won’t you please jump in. I want to 'see you; 
Jimmie told me all about you.” 

The carriage door was thrown open and Larkin 
bounded in, the picture of health and agility. 

“Cyril Ring, that’s the man who taught me box- 
ing and a lot of things. He’s done me more good 
than — than anything, and ” 

“Oh, I say, Jimmie, don’t make me blush. I’m 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


217 

glad to meet you, Cyril. Jimmie has told me all 
about you. As he says, he’s a pupil of mine, and 
I’m proud of him. We began at boxing, but that 
was only the beginning. For the last two and a 
half months I’ve had him in my gymnasium class 
at the Sodality club-room, and now, barring- 
strength and weight, he can do anything I can do, 
and a few things more. By the way, Jimmie, I’m 
offered a new place.” 

“What’s that ?” 

“Trainer at the gymnasium at twelve hundred a 
year.” 

“Did you take it?” 

“No, thank you. Now, if you were four years 
older, I could recommend you.” 

“Catch me leaving Mr. Ring!” 

“By the way, Cyril, you seem to need a little 
building up. The youngster, your friend, there, is 
a born trainer. If you get him to take you in hand,, 
he’ll make a man of you in three months.” 

“That’s just what I was going to ask Jimmie,” 
said Cyril. “Papa and I were talking about it last 
night. Papa doesn’t want me to go to school till 
February, and, in the meantime, he wants me to 
build up. Would you care to give me a course in 
gymnastics, Jimmie?” 

“Would I care? Why, it will be just great. I 
never thought when I was a studyin’ that I’d come 


2l8 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


to be your teacher. It’ll be fun for me, and, I hope, 
for you, too.” 

“You’re going to be in good hands, Cyril. 
Young Gleason here is a marvel at all sorts of 
athletics. Sometimes I was afraid he’d run off and 
join a circus. Well, we’re getting near where I 
want to go. Good-by, Cyril; I am very glad to 
have met you.” 

“Good-by, Mr. Larkin; any friend of Jimmie’s 
is mine. I hope you’ll call up some day and see 
me.” 

“Why, certainly; some time I’ll come along with 
Jimmie, and find out how you’re getting on.” 

Larkin struck the glass with his knuckles, and 
the driver stopped. 

“Good-by, Jimmie; give my very best regards 
to all at home and — and to Margaret.” 

“I guess you’ll see her soon enough to give ’em 
yourself. You come ’most every night,” answered 
Jimmie demurely. 

This remark left Larkin speechless. 

The hour spent in driving through Clifton and 
Eden Park was one of the most delightful in Jim- 
mie’s experience. The lingering autumn had 
touched into beauty the dying of the year, so that, 
though passing away, it was passing in an ecstacy 
of loveliness. 

Cyril, to whom these splendors of nature were 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


2 1 9 

nothing new, was at pains to call his friend’s- atten- 
tion to the choice bits of scenery; and he had a 
responsive listener. 

On issuing from Eden Park, Cyril directed the 
driver to go to Pioneer Street. 

“You know the house, Jack,” he added. 

The driver nodded intelligently. 

“What are you going to Pioneer Street for, Cy- 
ril?” Gleason inquired. 

“Never mind, Jimmie; you’ll see in a minute.” 

This statement was not literally true. Some- 
thing over five minutes passed before they drew 
up at a neat two-story house — the middle one of 
a row of three. 

Cyril took a key from his pocket, and led the 
way. A pretty little veranda covered with creep- 
ing vines guarded the door. 

“What do you think of these houses, Jimmie?” 

“They’re nice; they look very pretty.” 

“Pm glad you like them. All three are mine. 
Papa gave them to me a year ago. Two of them 
are rented at fifteen dollars a month. This one is 
not occupied at present.” 

“Gee! I’d like to rent it myself. But fifteen is a 
little high for us.” 

Cyril, meanwhile, had turned the key in the lock 
and thrown- open the door. 

“Come in and examine it,” he said. 


220 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


From the moment of their entrance to their 
leaving, Jimmie’s conversation was limited mainly 
to three letters of the alphabet. When “oh” and 
“ah” failed to express his sentiments, he said 
“Gee.” 

“That front room upstairs would be just the 
thing for mamma and Mary. Then Margaret and 
Ellen could have the next room. My brother and 
I could live together in the room next the yard. 
I say, Cyril, as soon as your father gives me a raise, 
I’m going to see whether we can’t afford to rent 
your house. Of course, I shall have to ask my 
mother’s opinion.” 

“Your mother will be here in a minute, Jimmie. 
I sent John to bring her. The fact is, if it suits 
her and you, I’ve got a little plan for letting you 
have it right away. It’s a very simple plan, too. 
Now you know, Jimmie, I’m not going to let you 
take me in hand and instruct me in athletics for 
nothing.” 

“I’ll bet you are,” put in Jimmie. “Why, that 
will be a pleasure to me.” 

“Yes; but I intend to use at least one hour of 
your time every day, and I won’t have you at all 
unless you let me pay you. Papa and I talked 
about it last night, and we both settled on that; 
no pay, no instruction.” 

“But you’re too good. I owe you a lot already, 
and I won’t ” 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 221 

“Oh, you’ve got to. That’s all about it. Papa 
insists on payment, and so does my mother. Now, 
listen. According to all accounts, your work in 
teaching me ought to be worth at least seventy- 
five cents an hour. This will pay your rent for this 
house, and leave you a margin of about ten dollars 
over each month. What do you say to that?” 

Jimmie reflected for some time. 

“Suppose we compromise,” he said at length. 
“I don’t want your margin. Let us have the house 
for my work, and even then I’ll feel that I have far 
the best of the bargain.” 

“Let’s compromise the compromise, then,” said 
Cyril, smiling. “Instead of giving you ten dollars 
over and above, suppose I make it five dollars? 
You needn’t shake your head.” 

When Mrs. Gleason arrived, the two had already 
come to terms. It was for her to ratify the agree- 
ment. 

“My little boy,” she said, “you are giving us 
what your poor father’s death took away — a home. 
God bless you. How proud of yon he would be 
were he alive to-day! Indeed, indeed, God has 
blessed me in my children.” 

And thus began a new and brighter chapter in 
the history of the Gleasons 


222 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


CHAPTER XI. 

IN WHICH JOHN AND MARGARET SHOW WONDERFUL IA 
SENSIBILITY TO THE COLD , AND A NEW YEAR 
BEGINS FOR THEM IN EARNEST. 

It is a bitter cold day in winter some two years 
after the events related in the last chapter. The 
snow, sparkling in the glare of the electric lights — 
for the morning is still very young — lies hard and 
crisp upon the ground. It had fallen heavily dur- 
ing the previous night, and very few snow shovel- 
lers had as yet come out to clear the sidewalks. 

Five o’clock Mass at St. Xavier’s Church was 
over, and the forth-issuing crowd of worshippers 
quickly disappeared. For fifteen minutes or more 
there continued to come forth scattered groups of 
communicants, who had delayed to make their 
thanksgiving, until the church was well-nigh de- 
serted. It was, in very deed, deserted, when lastly 
there issued from its ample portals six persons with 
whom the reader is more or less acquainted. The 
first couple were John Larkin and Margaret Glea- 
son. Behind them came Jimmie and his mother, 
followed by Ellen and Mary. 

“Happy New Year, mother; happy New Year, 
everybody,” called Jimmie, as they reached the 
outermost door of the church. 


ONE STEP AMD THEN ANOTHER. 


223 


His merry cry was caught up and re-echoed, 
with some trifling variations, by all. 

John Larkin seemed to be rather unduly influ- 
enced by the apparent slipperiness of the steps. 
He assisted Margaret down the dangerous descent 
as though she were the very rarest specimen of 
Rookwood pottery. Not thus impressed were 
the others. I11 fact, they paid little or no regard to 
their personal danger to life and limb, so absorbed 
w T ere they in observing with a tender and amused 
interest the thrilling downward progress of Mar- 
garet and John. 

“Why don’t you take her round by way of the 
sacristy and out the door of the pastor’s resi- 
dence?” suggested Jimmie; “there aren’t near so 
many steps there as here. If you wish, I’ll ring 
up for an ambulance.” 

No attention was paid to these profane sugges- 
tions. The party moved along Sycamore Street 
in the direction of Sixth. 

I stated a moment ago that it was a cold day. 
The wind bit shrewdly as it passed, and sang a 
song of winter at the corners of the church. Men, 
pressing their gloved hands to their ears, were 
hurrying along with all the haste consistent with 
Sunday dignity and the condition of the pave- 
ments. Little boys, embarrassed by heavy bundles 
of papers, were dancing upon the snow-covered 


224 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


earth and beating their arms energetically against 
their shoulders, forgetting in the intensity of the 
cold to cry out their wares. In a word, there could 
be no doubt in the mind of any sane and unpreju- 
diced man that it was a very cold day indeed. 

Nevertheless, there were two persons, turning 
on Sixth Street from Sycamore to Broadway that 
morning, who failed to appreciate the fact. These 
two were John and Margaret. The pace which 
they adopted would have lent courage to a snail. 
One might fancy, from their leisurely movements, 
that it was early spring, all beautiful with fragrant 
flowers and golden sunshine. The air might have 
been filled with sweet singing birds; though, I am 
bound to say, however full-throated the choir, they 
would not have heard so much as a single note, 
for they were listening to each other, and convers- 
ing with an earnestness which made them utterly 
deaf and dumb and blind to all things not them- 
selves. 

Master James Gleason, cpiickly taking in the 
situation, was all a grin. He was directlv behind 
them, and, although he was blue with the cold, he 
hesitated for fully half a square as to the propriety 
of awakening them rudely from “love’s young 
dream.” 

“I say, mother, aren’t they a pair of young turtle 
doves? Do you know, I believe they’d let us freeze 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


225 


to death, and would learn nothing- about it till a 
week or so after our burial?” 

“God bless them both,” said Mrs. Gleason fer- 
vently. “There’s not a better pair in the parish.” 

“Nor in the whole town, for that matter,” added 
James. 

“Isn’t it sweet!” chattered Ellen, who could 
grow sentimental in the face of any weather. 

“Yes; I reckon it is; in fact, just a little too sweet 
for my taste,” answered James. “Of course, I’ve 
no objection to their enjoying themselves in their 
own fashion, so long as they do not interfere with 
the lives and liberties of the rest of the family. 
But, really, they are blocking the sidewalk; and 
unless something happens we shall freeze to death. 
I say, Larkin!” 

But Larkin heard not his own name. 

“Did you ever see the like of it ?” grumbled Jim- 
mie in an undertone to his mother. “I really be- 
lieve that those two at their present rate of speed 
would not make a mile if they were to go on from 
now till sunset. Besides they have evidently for- 
got that we exist. Hey, Larkin! John Larkin!” 
he bawled. 

Larkin started as one starts who has been rudely 
shaken from some dream or vision elysian. 

“I — I beg your pardon. Did you call?” he said, 
trying vainly to look pleasant and interested. 


226 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


“Did I call? Well, yes; I believe I did. If these 
streets were paved with gold instead of snow; and 
if the air were filled with sunshine instead of shiv- 
ers, you two could not possibly enjoy your little 
walk more than you do. You seem to have a 
knack of knocking enjoyment out of any sort of 
weather. Of course, I don’t want to hurry you, 
you know. If you people are really enjoying your- 
selves as much as you seem, mother and I and the 
girls are willing to go on freezing till further 
orders.” 

John and Margaret laughed, and, taking the 
hint, at once quickened their steps; indeed, with 
such alacrity did they proceed, that Ellen, who 
took an extravagantly cheerful view of things on 
this particular morning, averred that they were go- 
ing at the rate of at least one mile an hour. 

The conversation thus interrupted by James was 
presently renewed. 

“Did you hear what Jimmie said just now, Mar- 
garet ?” 

“About our going so slow?” 

“Oh, no; not that. He said something to the 
effect that all weathers were alike to us.” 

“Ah! Did he?” 

“Yes, Margaret. And it’s true, isn’t it?” 

“Well, it is a cold day,” remarked Margaret, 
logically. 

“What he said is true,” insisted John, idiotically 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


227 


unbuttoning his overcoat. “And, Margaret, if, we 
live long enough, I dare say we shall meet with all 
kinds of weather in our life. Don’t you think that 
all kinds of weather, wet, and cold, hot and dry, 
darkness and storm, and trouble and illness, would 
look more alike to us all the time, if — if- — — 

“Yes; it is very cold,” said Margaret. 

“Oh, bother the cold. Say, Margaret, shall we 
face it together — you and I — for life?” 

Now, if Margaret had not become suddenly ex- 
cited, she would certainly have turned aside from 
the main question by inquiring into the meaning 
of the little word “it” thus vaguely used by John 
Larkin. But she hesitated; she lost her head for 
the smallest fraction of a minute, and 

“By George!” cried Jimmie a moment later, “I 
believe it has come at last. Something has been 
going on out of the common, and it’s just what I 
was expecting for the last three months.” 

“What are you talking about, and what were 
you expecting?” asked Mrs. Gleason. 

“Larkin has gone and done it.” 

“Done what?” 

“Proposed, mother; and Margaret has said 
‘yes.’ ” 

Just then the leaders of this slow-moving proces- 
sion having halted, John Larkin turned and ad- 
dressed himself to Mrs. Gleason. 


228 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


“Mrs. Gleason,” lie began, “I have some news 
for ” 

“John,” pleaded Margaret, attempting to put 
her hand over her stalwart escort’s mouth. 

“Gently, Margaret. Mrs. Gleason, I beg to an- 
nounce ” 

With a little shrjek, Margaret put her hands be- 
fore her face, and bolted for home. Uttering a 
whoop, Jimmie at once gave chase; Larkin, hur- 
riedly remarking, “you know the rest,” followed 
next; and what with the bracing air and the cold 
and the nature of the news, even the girls broke 
into a run, while Mrs. Gleason followed after at the 
briskest walk of which she was capable. 

Beyond what has just been set down, no further 
announcement of the engagement was ever made 
by the parties chiefly concerned. The rest was un- 
derstood. 


CHAPTER XII. 

JN WHICH EVERY ONE JS HAPPY , AND THE CURTAIN 
PALLS. 

The first day of the New Year has worn on to 
noon. Seated in the parlor, and with an eye upon 
the street — for they are expecting distinguished 
guests — are Mrs. Gleason, Jimmie, Mary, Ellen, 
Edward, and Earle. Margaret and John are pres- 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER . 


229 


ent, too, but they do not, like the others, seem to 
be waiting. 

Earle is dressed with unusual care, induced to 
such effort by Jimmie, and is correspondingly un- 
comfortable. His shoes are so highly polished that 
he is fain to contemplate them at length; but a 
very high collar holds him in bondage, and, for the 
first time in his life, he holds his head high in air. 

Edward has been awed into stillness by the wear- 
ing of a new and tasty suit of clothes, made doubly 
impressive by a tie which is a marvel of brilliant 
colors. Margaret and John are conversing to- 
gether, oblivious apparently of space and time. 
The others are not quite so much at their ease; 
they are waiting. The younger ones are fast wax- 
ing impatient. And why should they not? A 
tempting odor comes from the kitchen, and they 
are tantalized by a vision, so near and yet so far, of 
the dining-room, bright and cheery, and hinting 
of flowers and feasting. 

While the company is thus waiting, let us re- 
trace briefly the history of the past two years. 

The new house has indeed proved to be a home. 
Mrs. Gleason has done everything to make it pleas- 
ant and attractive to her children. Pioneer Street 
is a quiet and pretty little harbor, situated 
modestly but just the least little bit aside from the 
rush and roar of down-town life. The houses are 


230 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


for the most part well kept; and their inhabitants 
embrace among their number some of the very nice 
people of St. Xavier’s parish. Yet for neatness and 
attractiveness there was no house in all the cheer- 
ful length of the square to surpass the home of our 
happy family. Every month has witnessed some 
improvement in its appointments, until at the 
opening of this new year of grace, it is a home 
which for neatness and simplicity leaves nothing 
to be desired. In consequence of this and of the 
new and better circle of acquaintance into which 
they have been thrown, Ellen and Mary are 
changed girls — so changed, indeed, that those who 
knew them in other years cannot but wonder. 
What their present home is to their tenement lodg- 
ings, so are they to their former selves. Mother, 
and Margaret, and Jimmie have won the day. 
Thanks to the change, the better has prevailed 
over the worse. 

As for Earle, he is half respectable, which is all 
that can be expected of that interesting young 
man. He has no ambition, no desire to rise to 
higher things. But while he does not rise, the So- 
dality and the presence of Jimmie, whom he un- 
willingly recognizes as his lord and master, prevent 
him from being submerged. He has a wholesome 
fear of his athletic cousin, and that fear is the be- 
ginning and the end of his wisdom. 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER . 


231 


Edward is developing well. He is a student and 
a reader. Like Jimmie, he is a weekly communi- 
cant. He attends St. Xavier College, and is a 
member of the Acolythical Society. One of the 
joys of his mother’s heart is to see her little boy 
in the sanctuary. It is the secret prayer and the 
secret hope of all, that God may one day call the 
little fellow to the high and holy vocation of the 
priesthood. Judging by his piety, his modesty, and 
his love of study, the wish is neither extravagant, 
nor is its fulfilment improbable. 

Jimmie himself has grown wondrously. The 
youthfulness of his face alone shows that he has 
not yet come to man’s estate. But in every other 
sense he is a man; a man in judgment, in strength, 
in ability, in energy, in work. During the past 
few months he has served on trial as Mr. Ring’s 
private secretary. The trial has abundantly proved 
his fitness, and on the morrow he enters perma- 
nently upon the duties of this position at a salary 
which puts the family on an assured and comfort- 
able footing. There is no longer need for Ellen 
to earn her bread; she is experiencing for the first 
time in many years, poor girl, the blessedness of the 
home life. 

Jimmie’s endeavors to develop the health and 
the muscles of Cyril Ring proved to be quite suc- 
cessful. The sickly little fellow, under his prudent 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


232 

care and watching, improved perceptibly week 
after week, and, long before the roses came the 
flower of health bloomed blushingly upon his 
cheek. When he returned to St. Maure’s in the 
following March, he was in perfect health; and, it 
may be added, in the field day he carried off the 
honors of the Junior department. 

Cyril’s return to college, however, did not de- 
prive Jimmie of the little revenue which went to- 
wards paying the rent of the house on Pioneer 
Street. Cyril had advertised the merits of his 
trainer so well among his young friends of Avon- 
dale that previous to his departure a class of twelve 
little boys presented themselves to Jimmie for the 
same course. In consequence of this addition to 
his income, Jimmie, besides laying by a goodly sum 
of money each month, was able to withdraw Mar- 
garet from her position as regular stenographer 
(though she still, at the earnest solicitation of the 
firm, gave two hours daily to them), and to send her 
to receive private lessons at the Sixth Street 
Academy. 

Although Cyril and Jimmie are no longer to- 
gether, they keep up a frequent and fervent cor- 
respondence. Cyril has more than repaid Jimmie 
for his physical training; he has become his sturdy 
friend’s literary guide. Under his direction young 
Gleason is acquiring a healthy taste and a healthy 
knowledge of literature. This improvement bids 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


2 33 


fair to go on faster than ever; for now that Jim- 
mie has become Mr. Ring’s secretary, he purposes 
giving but three nights to his class in physical 
culture, and to devote the other four to study and 
reading. 

It goes without saying that he is still a member 
of the boys’ Sodality. For the past six months he 
has been prefect, and wields an influence which 
Father Nelson declares to be simply incalculable. 
Experience and effort and observation have worn 
off his rough corners, and he is frankly recognized 
as the leading “big boy” of the parish. 

Meantime, we have left the family group in wait- 
ing. 

“Here they are,” cried Jimmie exultingly, just 
as the chimes of St. Xavier’s rang out the first 
quarter after the noon hour. 

There was a clatter of wheels and of horses’ 
hoofs, and Jack, the coachman, brought his 
spirited horses to a halt before the door. 

The words were not well out of Jimmie’s mouth, 
when he darted from the room, and, before the 
coachman could dismount was assisting the guests 
from the carriage. 

Cyril, stout and rosy and smiling, needed no 
help. He was followed by his father and mother, 
who were indeed happy to have their dear little 
St. Maure’s boy with them for a few days. 

“Why, Cyril,” cried Jimmie, almost hugging 


234 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


him, for Cyril had just reached home that morn- 
ing, “you look splendid.” 

“I feel that way, Jimmie. I got permission from 
our president to come all the way from St. Maure’s 
to congratulate you. I had to tell him the whole 
story before he would allow it. He’s a trump.” 

“He’s anything good you can call him,” assented 
Jimmie with enthusiasm. “Welcome back to Cin- 
cinnati. How are you, Mr. Ring? Happy New 
Year, Mrs. Ring; you do not know how glad I am 
to have you here with us. But I’m so glad to see 
Cyril that I can’t show any other feeling. It’s like 
old times to see him again.” 

“I feel as good as if I were getting two Christ- 
mases in one week, Jimmie.” 

It was a happy party that met under that simple 
roof-tree. There was much talk and much laughter, 
and not a little joking. The jests, it is hardly 
necessary to add, were, for the most part, directed 
at Margaret and John, who, being very joyous, 
were brave to admiration. 

Towards the end of the meal Mr. Ring arose. 

“My friends,” he said, “I know that I am ex- 
pected to say something. In fact I had thought 
out a little speech, suitable, as I believed, for the 
occasion, on the way here; but I now find that my 
little speech won’t do. I was going to say a word 
or two about my new private secretary, in whose 


ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


2 35 


honor we are gathered together; but the events 
of the morning have put him in the background; 
have, indeed, sent him into a sort of eclipse. The 
only subject of interest, here and now, is the en- 
gagement of Mr. John Larkin and Miss Margaret 
Gleason.” 

It was Jimmie who started the warm applause. 

“Never mind us, Mr. Ring,” pleaded John Lar- 
kin. “We’re happy enough. Please to turn your 
little speech full on the youngster. Hit him hard.” 

“Yes, do, Mr. Ring,” added Margaret. 

“Well, since you will have it, so be it. After all, 
my young lady and my young gentleman, it is due 
to Jimmie that Margaret may, with a clear con- 
science and a light heart, leave her venerable 
mother. Jimmie is now the head of the family. 
There was a time, and that not so very long ago, 
when such was not the case. There was a time 
when Margaret was the heroine and the bread- 
winner. She is a heroine yet.” 

“Hear, hear!” cried Larkin. 

“Later, there came a time when it was hard to 
say who held the honors. But now the question is 
no longer in doubt. Jimmie is the head of the 
family, and God grant he may remain so for many 
and many a happy, happy year. 

“I have known my private secretary since he 
was a newsboy. I knew him when it was doubtful 


236 ONE STEP AND THEN ANOTHER. 


as to which way he would go — upwards or down- 
wards. It was just then, just at the parting of 
the ways that I said something to him about the 
Christian gentleman. Beyond that, I said, if I re- 
member right, there was little or nothing in this 
world. I need not say that thus far he has striven 
to be a gentleman and a Christian. Step by step, 
he has risen higher. One step and then another; 
one step and then another; such is the history of 
Jimmie Gleason for the last two years. There are 
more steps, and the way will not always be smooth. 
But a brave heart travels where a coward heart 
faints. Nor need we face the far off future. Be- 
fore us lies the New Year. That is enough. Face 
it boldly, my boy. A happy, happy New Year to 
you and to all.” 

“ ‘One step and then another, and the longest 
lane is ended,’ ” quoted Jimmie. 

“And,” added Mr. Ring, “be they long or short, 
may the end of each our lanes be heaven.” 


THE BOY WHO KNEW IT ALL 


“You’re a doctor, ain’t you, sir?” inquired the 
small boy, as he threw open the front door and 
fixed his eyes upon a middle-aged man with a 
closely trimmed beard. 

“Yes; but ” 

“I knew it,” cried the little fellow clasping his 
hands and giving a skip for very joy; “and what’s 
more, I know who sent you.” 

“The deuce you do!” exclaimed the doctor, the 
stern character of his expression changing into a 
lively and unprofessional astonishment. 

“Yes, sir, I do. You were sent here by St. Jo- 
seph to cure my mamma.” 

“Is that so? Now, I was under the ” 

“Yes,” broke in the boy, too eager to listen; 
“and you’re welcome; come right along” — here he 
took the physician’s hand in his own — “and I’ll 
show you something worth seeing.” 

If the doctor then and there had discovered 
America he could not have looked more amazed 
237 


2 3 8 


THE BOY WHO KNEW IT ALL. 


as the youthful guide conducted him into the par- 
lor and cried jubilantly: 

“Now, just look at that, will you?” 

The parlor was wretchedly furnished, and, al- 
though it was Christmas eve, not at all Christmas- 
like in its general appearance; but the shabby ap- 
pointments of the room were unnoticed by the 
doctor; both he and his guide were staring with 
the liveliest interest upon a group of packages ly- 
ing on the uncarpeted floor. 

“Turkey!” cried the boy unctuously, touching 
the biggest package with a caressing hand. 

“Ham!” he continued, touching another. 

“Oranges!” he went on, opening a plethoric 
paper bag. “Won’t you take one, sir?” 

The doctor, meanwhile, looked as if he had not 
yet got over discovering America. At the ques- 
tion he recovered himself a trifle, and said: 

“Are those your oranges, sonny?” 

“Oh, I’m rude; I should have told you my name, 
sir. It’s Joe — Joe Willis. Why, of course these 
oranges are mine; so’s the turkey; so’s the ham; 
everything is mine — that wine packed in hay with 
silver round the cork, and all those nuts and raisins, 
and those bananas and apples and figs — they’re 
all mine. They’re a Christmas present to me. Do 
you know who it was that made me a present of 
them?” 


THE BOY WHO KNEW IT ALL. 


2 39 


“Who, pray ?” asked the doctor, with a touch of 
sarcasm, which was quite lost on Joe Willis. 

“St. Joseph, sir.” 

“Well,” cried the physician, placing his tall hat 
and heavy gloves on the table, “this is quite be- 
yond anything in all my experience, professional 
or otherwise.” 

“Did St. Joseph tell you to come himself, sir?” 
continued young Willis sympathetically, for he per- 
ceived that the doctor was troubled. After all, it 
might be hard on the nerves to encounter a saint. 

“Tell me how St. Joseph came to send you all 
these groceries, my little man.” 

“Here’s the way it happened, sir — sit down.” 

The doctor took a chair, and Joe squatted be- 
side the turkey. 

“Well, it happened this way: Towards the last 
part of November mamma took sick just when she 
got some fancy needlework, and then, of course, 
she had to let it go. Then my oldest sister — Ma- 
bel’s her name — had to stay home to take care of 
ma. My papa’s been dead over a year. Now, I’m 
too little to work, and my other two sisters are 
too young for any use, and so my older brother 
Tom, who is fifteen, had to try to support the fam- 
ily all by himself. Of course, Tom couldn’t do it, 
and ma didn’t get better, and Christmas was com- 
ing near, and I didn’t just see how we’d do about 


240 


THE BOY WHO KNEW IT ALL. 


having a Christmas dinner. And then, sir, I 
thought I’d make a new vena to St. Joseph.” 

“Oh!” 

“Yes, sir. Sister Gerina, who teaches me, said 
more than once that if we ever wanted something 
right bad we should go to St. Joseph, and he’d be 
sure to hear us, if the things we asked for was all 
right. Well, then I started a new vena, and I 
prayed for all I was worth for a good Christmas 
dinner, especially turkey and oranges — just look 
at that turkey and those oranges, and the bottles 
with the corks done up in silver, peeking out of the 
hay! Well, sir, I just prayed till both my knees 
got sore. I’ll show ’em to you if you ” 

“Go on with your story, I am interested,” said 
the doctor, whose face had softened wondrously. 

Joe relinquished his hold on the upper part of 
his stocking, straightened up, and went on: 

“To-day is Christmas eve, and the last day of the 
new vena, and this morning I started in to pray 
just as if I was beginning. A little before dinner- 
time, ma, who had been sick right along, got much 
worse, and my sister wanted to get a doctor; but 
ma was afraid of the expense, I reckon, and said no. 
Then I went at St. Joseph again; and do you know 
what I told him? I said that I was willing to give 
up the turkey and oranges and candy if he would 
only send a good doctor to cure mamma, and while 


THE BOY WHO KNEW IT ALL. 


241 


I was praying the bell rang, and there was a gro- 
cer’s boy with his wagon. I had been expecting 
him, and as he came in I told him to bring the 
things in the parlor quietly, so that the folks 
wouldn’t know anything about it. You see, I 
wanted to give them a surprise. The grocer’s boy 
was a jolly fellow with a silver watchchain. Then 
I felt sure that St. Joseph meant to send a doctor, 
too; so I’ve been waiting for you ever since, and it’s 
over two hours. If you don’t want an orange, you 
might as well come along and see my mother right 
away.” 

Again looking as though he had just discovered 
America, the doctor suffered himself to be con- 
ducted up the stairway into a small room. 

“St. Joseph has sent a doctor to cure you, 
mamma.” 

The mother was in bed. Her daughter Mabel, 
who was bending tenderly over her, raised her sad 
eyes at these words, and then she, too, looked as 
though she were taking a part in the discovery of 
the Western Continent. 

“The boy is right,” muttered the physician, un- 
der his breath, as he stooped beside the bed and 
fixed his eyes full on the woman’s face. 

He was one of those gifted doctors who seem 
to take in the nature of a case at a glance. A light 
hand upon the woman’s pulse, a touch upon the 


243 


THE BOY WHO KNEW IT ALL 


brow, a raising of the lids and a glance into the 
eyes — and the doctor knew his ground. 

“Little boy,” he said gravely, “St. Joseph has 
sent me in the nick of time. Your mother, my 
girl,” he added, drawing Mabel away from the bed- 
side, “would probably be beyond a doctor's skill 
within twenty-four hours. But now I see my way 
to breaking her fever before noon to-morrow. 
Now, my girl, I’m off to get some medicine at 
once. I must also send a message to my family to 
let them know that I shall be away all night in 
order to save my patient.” 

Taking no notice of the girl’s broken words of 
thanks, he hastened from the room and down the 
stairs. A light patter came echoing after him. 

“Say, doctor,” cried Joe, half-way down the 
staircase, “can’t I come along?” 

“Come on,” said the doctor, not unkindly. 

In front of the house a wagon had just come to 
a stand behind the doctor’s gig — the same wagon 
that had brought the Christmas dinner — and 
in it, not looking at all jolly, sat the same grocer’s 
boy. 

Joe would have run over to greet him as an old 
friend, but the doctor interposed. 

“Wait a minute,” he said; “I want to speak to 
him privately.” 

“Look here,” said the doctor, addressing the de- 


THE BOY WHO KNEW IT ALL. 


243 


jected grocer’s boy, “where were you tolcl to bring 
that order of mine?” 

“To 2418 Gamble Street, sir; that’s the house, 
sir. That boy there met me at the door, and said 
he’d been expecting me. Here’s my orders as I 
put ’em down in my book. Doctor William Wil- 
kins, 2418 Gamble — O-o-o-oh!” 

“Exactly,” said the doctor, “it’s 2418 Gamble 
Avenue, not Gamble Street. Just as soon as your 
clerk told me the goods had been delivered I began 
to think. On my road to a patient I happened to 
pass Gamble Street, and it flashed on me that as 
like as not I might find my order at number 2418. 
And so I did.” 

“You beat me here. Jerusalem! we’ve made an 
awful blunder,” cried the grocer’s boy, in the name 
of the firm. 

“Not a blunder,” corrected the customer, “but 
a mistake.” 

“Oh!” said the grocer’s boy, looking doubtful. 

“You needn’t bother, though, about taking 
those things back. Just duplicate the first order 
and bring the things to Gamble Avenue this 
time. The order you brought here by mistake 
will do for a patient of mine in this house from 
St. Joseph.” 

“St. Joseph, Missouri, sir?” asked the grocer’s 
boy, innocently. 


244 


THE BOY WHO KNEW IT ALL 


For answer the doctor slipped a dollar into the 
other’s hand. 

“A merry Christmas to jou,” he explained. 

How the grocer’s boy brightened. 

‘'Same to you, sir,” he answered. ‘‘No, it wasn’t 
a blunder, I see that. I hope, sir, your patient 
from St. Joe will have a merry Christmas, too. 
Good-by, little man,” he cried out to Joe, who, 
while regaling himself with nuts and raisins, was 
smiling and dancing on the steps. 

“Merry Christmas to all c us,” yelled Joe; and 
seeing that the secret interview was over, he pat- 
tered down and placed his little hand most confid- 
ingly in the doctor’s. 

“Little boy,” he said, “you may be very young, 
but really and truly you seem to know it all.” 
There was a moisture in the good man’s eye as he 
spoke, but Joe did not care to understand — to the 
eye of faith there are few mysteries. 

Although the doctor passed a sleepless and an 
anxious night beside the sick woman, I am glad 
to say that his efforts were successful beyond be- 
lief, and, as a result, Joe and mamma and doctor 
and Mabel and Tom and the two little sisters all 
spent the merriest kind of a Christmas. 


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